Alan Marshfield
The Red Poem
only from Thought’s dolphin
gashed head to tail
and flung ashore dead
could Love have been birthed
washed in brine elevated
to stroll bare ashore
dripping her fluids
on dead fields to make
red anemones
*
from a word cadaver
sunk at sea
in a sewn hammock
she as idea
out of the cortex
bare arsed and lovely
drips on the floor
from her menstrual parts
the red poem
Page(s) 111-112
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