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I am not

I am Byron on the Hellespont.
I am an empty ark beneath a failing arch.
I am Oppenheimer startled by a blown fuse.
I am Nicholas Breakspear bringing down the anti-pope.
I am Maria Dobroniega of Kiev ignoring the tears of Boleslaw the Bold.
I am an empty coracle and the song of lost canticles.
I am Hilda Doolittle condensing her name.
I am the Vale of Veronica, I am the Holy Face.
I am a dire wolf drowning in tar.
I am Murmansk and a giant in the snow.
I am Tuesday unaware of Wednesday.
I am a guillemot falling onto the rocks below.
I am Youssef waiting for the call from home.
I am Chingachgook and I am Magua.
I am yellow flowers in a dirty vase on a dusty hearth.
I am a dead cow on Cressington Promenade, head tilted up, soundless.
I am a sand-held bench on the dunes in the hinterlands of tomorrow.

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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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