Each Man Has A Merlin's Staff - Poem by Mark Heathcote
Each man has a Merlin's staff
a mercury thermometers blood
that stretches out like a giraffe
that he saver with a belly laugh.
Its magic plumes out; and refills
an empty waiting alabaster bath.
From the stone comes a liquid-
water; and there on without frills...
Water then mingles into a new life
there on it forms a silken membrane!
All cells expand and stick too
pairing from my very own paring knife.
Oh a man has a Merlin's staff
my good wife, with silk web linen's
that'll take in the heavens graph
and grind your bones into bread...
Oh a man has Merlin's magic wand
turning summers vine into blood...
Here in this grotto he can’t abscond...
The reflection of his own disgrace
in that other reflecting, godly, face!
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