Not recognizable
for my eyes,
miles of serpent tubing
spearing through
all his ageing veins
and wrinkly fleshy skin.
A dull silver Excalibur
intubated into his throat,
building a fragile bridge
between the one lung
and the outside world.
A 1929’s original
mechanical piece
thumping and
pumping,
compressing and
decompressing
steadily,
rapidly,
emotionally
and unpredictably
at any moment
of any day
as he lies in bed
with his organs
slowly being drizzled
by his lively blood
through a mysterious
internal breakage
amongst his piping.
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Submission Name: Filming
