Mark Heathcote

Gold Star - 22,923 Points (22/03/66 / Manchester)

An Arachnid's Meal - Poem by Mark Heathcote

Poets are like woodlice
Ruminating away at life
What they build is a place
For air; that abridged space
For a spider's snare

Poets are like damselflies'
Flitting here - then there
The world is dammed,
Petrified into, living stone.
The only thing left, now, is
His, words an arachnid's meal.

Every bone sucked marrow
Worn out cartilage
Is left out here on display,
Every mouth licked morsel.
On a 90° degree—death angle
Kill swing, cogitates its end.

Topic(s) of this poem: poem

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Poem Submitted: Thursday, June 6, 2013

Poem Edited: Monday, July 24, 2017

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