Another collection of poetry from Mark Whelehan. A bridge between apocryphal narrative, twisted lexicon, with poetic licence thrown in… wrought into the handle of an implement…
weaponised as it’s turned, hammered and spun together fashioned and forged… a white hot smithery of emotion. A foundry fire of melting words.
Smote… some hot some cold they splutter singe… sparks fly and like ash softly fall alight as a scribbled text on a wall.



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