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Poetry Magnum Opus

Wheelchair


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These legs are now ghosts carrying the moon who is pushing me back to the wreckage of the car. I can now gauge my new throne with wheels that will carry me through wars.Tree speaks close to where I was hit,asking to borrow legs, he wants to stride across clouds, who would catch him, who would care?-he could tempt passing angels to rest on branches and make real lifeless limbs, put suns into wheels to float through heaven's corridors. Carer unseals new medication.what is the sound of two feet clapping? she asks-followed by the sliding of tablets killing fires. Then I remember carrying my heart on a wheelbarrow as streetlamps sobbed electric tears, memory of how a car veers into a cyclist was lit, stamped onto a heart tipped into a postbox. Moving through the city center tongues are parked on double yellow lines with nothing to say, eyes are like the windows on an ark viewing previously unseen creatures. I want to fold up my wheelchair with the earth and slip them into a charity tin.

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Barry, it's a most powerful work I certainly hope is not autobiographical. I was about to start highlighting, but there's too much good to highlight; I'd have to quote the whole thing.

Tony

Here is a link to an index of my works on this site: tonyv's Member Archive topic

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