it clangs away like a warning
my arms quiver as long needles
plunge deep / pump me full
of accylitate / i gasp
like a sexy zygote / i am
new again / will be
new again in another fifteen
i love this machine that is keeping me
supple / young / impossibly
pure like unmelting ice
my breaths light and unfettered
twinkling / i cannot be
damaged anymore / i am new
again and again / a moving target
that when pierced regrows its skin
needles spurting life into
my deepest parts / my crevices
where parasites cower
i love the machine that is killing what happens to me
i cannot be stuck / stagnant
ceaselessly re-learning the self
and its surroundings / re-meeting
my lovers / friends / accessing
only my newest pleasures
topped up / hollowed out
spread along an infinity mattress
open / waiting / to be filled
with potential / acyllicides clanging
inside my gorged veins / god
i love to be living / god i love
this machine penetrating my
cooled flesh / endlessly poolside
with a stack of fries / submerged in
the glassiest spring waters / i love
the machine that is keeping me
humble / a bacterium suspended
in fathomless ooze
last night i took a man to dinner
and in his bed / consuming
and being consumed / i realized
with swelling relief
it doesn’t hurt anymore / and as
the needles prepared their next thrust
i whispered to my dying self
it doesn’t hurt anymore

IAN MARTIN writes poetry and lives in Ottawa. IAN’s work has appeared most recently in The Wild Literary Magazine, SURFACES.cx, release any words stuck inside you II, paintbucket.page, small poems �� the DUSIE blog, G U E S T, and BAD DOG. IAN has published four chapbooks, most recently YOU’RE GOING TO HAVE TO KEEP THIS UP FOREVER (AngelHousePress, 2018) and PLACES TO HIDE (Coven Editions, 2018). [ www.ian-martin.net ]

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