here he is
a sick man among sick men
lined up to do battle with big guns
a stockpile of syringes
against an army of bedsores
a drip-feed against tumours
& every morning armed with a marmelade
sandwich crusts cut off against
his own
self-consuming body
his muscles shrinking
his flesh falling away
the machines whirring
for weeks now
lying at his post looking at the moon
sword above his skull licking at skin
&
bone more pain here
numbness down there
staring shooting tears back into his
eyes
everything half used-up
his muscles shrinking
his flesh falling away
the machines whirring
Anna Hoffmann
translated by Catherine Hales
German original from Pandoras Box © Parasitenpresse, Cologne 2004
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