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tombs for thousands of years

or the dust disturbed by waves of doctrine
and lost worlds, like memory or shattered cities
I talk about tombs and think of Edinburgh
of a cold hand in a warm hand
or a cold body against a warm body
time slows, waves become a sea
become an ocean submerged
I am ice and my blood is ice
and my heart is ice
or for thousands of years I drift
or stand in a cornfield and will someone to pass
lifted from elsewhere and taken
for thousands of years the dust settles
and cold hands are forgotten
or evangelised and cast aside
there are gentle words on rolls of papyrus
no one can ever read
tongue stilled, memory entombed
repeated palimpsest


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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