Blood Memory

September 12, 2009

I wonder if the blood that is riding in my veins
holds still some metal memory of
Celtic nights or Viking dreams
or heathen screams or Gallic fights
or virgin whites or black coal seams –
if in each corpuscle lies a lovers meet
at river’s edge or the taste of
fresh raw meat in Northern trees
or the sound of many thousand druid feet
in battles unrecorded by any men –
if leukocytes still harbour hatred
for yellow plague and dark cold deaths and
broken blisters and rosy rings –
if plasma flows still to the ancient rhythm of
tight skin drums and battle cries and
African flies and grieving mums –
if in the quiet death of each erythrocyte
dies another piece of ancient folly,
agéd wisdom, feudal longing – human night?

Written 14 July 09 – ER


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