Abstract
First few lines of the poem: "Perhaps the best cells are the ones we can’t kill off, a persistence of the fittest, although mutation’s always painful. It’s two thousand and fourteen, and I know no-one who has been uninjured. It thinks in me..."
Original language | English |
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Place of Publication | Cordite Poetry Review, online |
Publisher | Cordite Poetry Review |
Edition | Issue 46.0: No Theme III |
Size | 1 poem |
Publication status | Published - 2014 |