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Poetry

Fisherman

Andrew Soye

they say the cramp's the worst,muscles work against themselves, pulling tight,wrists and ankles, already smashed, find no grip or foothold,

that cast in arc far out on sunlight,the leaden weight draws down, as love for life,the float, hauls upwards the writhing, skewered earthworm,

then this - a kiss that nibbles at the cheek,heart's colours seized and torn apart, devouring darkness,"Why hast thou forsaken?", death's spasm jerks - "Finished"