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Get a copy of this writing in the
Mark Fleury 2017 poetry book

the Eight Wheeled
Doorway of
Serpent’s Head


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Mark Fleury poetry book
The Same Warming

Mark Fleury

The same warming
Of unshed blood in us all,

Has the same coldness when spilled.
There are oceans of it in the buzz cuts
Of Empire, surrounded by barbed wire.
The trees have been carved into rowboats,

To get off the island. Red leaves are
Covering the ground. Another tree
Has the sunrise on its branches.
The division into yellow leaves

Can’t be protected by guns.

There’s no need to chase
The shadows away from
The unicorn, who crosses the nursery

Where baby sleeps as though over
A rainbow bridge. The river below
Is made of melted tanks, machine guns
And wire.

The murky, silver current flows
All the way from the depths
Of Old Man War’s brain,

To his scalp of winter hair.



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