Aphelion Issue 222, Volume 21
October 2017
 
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Drip

by Martin Tomlinson


Chords hang from me like a demented umbilical.
I forgot, decades ago, the function of each.
The burn, the underlying agony of each perpetual beat…
Life drips like torture,
Strapped to my body,
Forced upon me by some cruel medical wonder.


© 2014 Martin Tomlinson

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