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Mercator
He drew the world not as it is—
but as it might be travelled.
Lines stretched taut like tendons
across the muscle of oceans;
longitudes obedient,
latitudes arranged in tempered rows.
The poles swelled with false importance,
the equator shrank to a whisper.
Yet in distortion, there was clarity—
a map not of truth, but of purpose.
And isn’t that th...
Monday 23rd June 2025 1:03 pm
At The Grave Of St Valentine
there's a point on the map when
doubts and desapir veer to meet
and idly parade nowhere down a
lonely slum of a one-way street
no compass charts this latitude
where time gross reality bends
for its a quarter of lifeless loss
the geography where love ends
I've drifted here so many times
its memories my endless bane
before me for I sense a reprise
I am sure...
Sunday 14th February 2021 11:16 am
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