Saturday, 24 August 2013

MAN OF IRON, STANDING...

 
Man of Iron, Standing...
 
 
Blank.
Blind to the bland, grey waters...
Expressionless, motionless;
An inattentive, unemotional
Merseyside permanence:
Clinging weed flapping at lichen,
Like the torn wrappings
On the excavated, ancient, mummified elite.
It awaits a slurping tide to rise
And slash at it with venom
Then engulf its glum form,
Anchored by rusting, leprous feet...
 
Dismay.
Discontented on the distressed, dark, flat mud...
Barnacled, disfigured;
A moronic, horrific
Sculpted presence...
 

 
The Antony Gormley parade of iron figures on and around Great Crosby's beach.
Quite liked them...


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