Ubiquitous Unravelling<\/strong><\/p>\n <\/p>\n
I<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Reader, I can\u2019t pretend to know you,<\/p>\n
but listen intently enough, as though I do<\/p>\n
in the concrete jungle they call<\/p>\n
Piccadilly Gardens:<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
a glass of wine later<\/p>\n
and a pint of Hobgoblin<\/p>\n
as the conversation meanders like exhaust<\/p>\n
fumes through lanes of traffic,<\/p>\n
bus routes, tram lines<\/p>\n
and the unsuspecting mass of bodies,<\/p>\n
between city streets,<\/p>\n
through and towards what we already know:<\/p>\n
hard to imagine the years of care<\/p>\n
amounted to this, no holding hands,<\/p>\n
no linking of arms, not a kiss,<\/p>\n
only the well ordered yawns<\/p>\n
of a first and last face to face encounter.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
II<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Who could\u2019ve known<\/p>\n
that in that parade of flesh<\/p>\n
we found ourselves caught up in,<\/p>\n
only the dead one would come<\/p>\n
to bare teeth<\/p>\n
at our lonely conversation,<\/p>\n
our conversation about being alone?<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
No use to lie, no need to sharpen the blade.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Just what has been rejected here \u2013<\/p>\n
but the idea of our future selves as giants<\/p>\n
traversing landscapes, moor lands<\/p>\n
and hill tops, pleasure bound creatures<\/p>\n
hell bent on self discovery?<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
So we annihilate each others dreams,<\/p>\n
speaking of mutability<\/p>\n
as though our own flesh were indestructible<\/p>\n
with all the hubris of solitary bees.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Mark A. Murphy<\/strong>\u2019s first full length collection, Night-watch Man & Muse<\/em> <\/a>was published in November 2013 from Salmon Poetry (Eire). Murphy\u2019s poems have been published in over 100 magazines and ezines in 17 different countries world wide.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Ubiquitous Unravelling I Reader, I can\u2019t pretend to know you, but listen intently enough, as though I do in the concrete jungle they call Piccadilly Gardens: a glass of wine later and a pint of Hobgoblin as the conversation meanders like exhaust fumes through lanes of traffic, bus routes, […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":4,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_et_pb_use_builder":"","_et_pb_old_content":"","_et_gb_content_width":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[7],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-9218","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-prose-poetry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/9218","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/4"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=9218"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/9218\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":9220,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/9218\/revisions\/9220"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=9218"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=9218"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=9218"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}