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The Plagiarist

Your eyes were neither dark nor glittered.

I plied you with wine, said ‘Listen, you’re from Leicester.’

We forgot about all of our black brackish seas

lapping at consciousness, dreamt brinies

cast astern, haunting waters abandoned for sure feet.

Here we were giants biting bodies by gripped waists

so bodies stay still. Time ravages men.

Below us was a man running as if his life depended

on it, harsh sun at his back.

We didn’t even move as the sun swallowed the day beneath

a tyrian darkened horizon.

Hints of shallow pools, shackled to ice

we listened adrift

and I left you then, spent two weeks

playing black jack, drinking four euro

Bordeaux with a Spaniard called Romeo.

I can’t say anything is still true but I imagine you always

disappear on the road. Catch your breath

and burst and cease to be.

I was silent this morning.

I was alone waiting for light to wake

and I realised we haven’t had such a clear night

since the post office closed.

Only a fever, delirium, not a definite end

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About michaeleganpoetry

Liverpool based poet and editor. I have had four pamphlets of poetry published, most recently After Stikklestad (Knives, Forks and Spoons Press, 2010). Penned in the Margins published my first collection, Steak & Stations, in 2010.

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