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Black Ladder
Black ladder I long
To finger to feel
A pulse a curve
Pulsating inward
Grinning outwards
An ageless smile
Horizons on the pillow
As I still mountaineer
Clinging hold of her brazier
Vertigo dizzies itself on a cleft
One more swing-out and in
And the fabric of the world
Will fit into a rubber skin
poem
by
Mark Heathcote
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