One Poem by David Hanlon

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.

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