Pure Slush

flash ... without the wank

Faces in the Mirror

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by Mercedes Webb-Pullman


Venice is for visions.

Inside each labyrinth

another, better hidden,

where earth burns

as water, air flickers 

with reflections.


Wars begin with lovers.

This is their city,

sinister and beguiling,

decadence inviting as the slow

lace pigeon patterns that form

and disperse over St Marks.


Men come to die in Venice

with their poems;

to let everything go

and look finally into

mirrors made to show

the flaws of their souls,


the blackheads

of their beliefs, their scruffy

two-day growth of love.



will never be enough

in Venice.


published 22 June 2016