A Body Is Another Home
Is a sun, effaced.
Is a shipwreck on a sea bed. Is
wildflower-spread hands wound:
motor-spun fire fists.
Is open road legs razored: dead
end, cobbled lanes.
River-flow core weighted: crisis-
cut, granite block.
Sky-stretched lungs fractured shut:
Venus flytraps on defence.
Is that scythe-sharp brain slur:
that evening murk.
My body is a home
is the bulldozed aftermath
of another home.
David Hanlon is from Cardiff, Wales, and currently living in Bristol, England. He is a recently qualified counsellor/therapist. You can find his work online in Dirty Paws Poetry Review, Into The Void, Barren Magazine, Boston Accent Lit, Riggwelter Press and forthcoming in Homology Lit and Drunk Monkeys.