Mark A Fisher

Merlin

languishing in Nimue’s prison
with an old man’s delusions of love
worn like the sinister disguise
of multitudes of changelings
with all their might-have-beens
never was there any shortage of tears
for there was an answer
lurking at the edge of his mind
to a question
that he had forgotten to ask



together

there is an incandescent bulb within my chest
radiating light throughout invisible veins
circulating liquid love, warmth my heart possessed
for all the coming years that still to us remains

with my future verse scratched out in fountain pen
words dreamily composed and written lyrical
drafted out across my wrinkled and spotted skin
every moment yields another miracle

encyclopedic memories in volumes kept
shelved haphazardly next to the novels I dreamed
and all the biographies I never unwrapped
and those poems that I still have never redeemed

together in some future we are artifacts
and then there in some play our love reenacts