Sunday, July 24, 2011

Body Poem

Stop me if you've heard this one before, but
the saline hum of crushed cabbage at my fingertips
amplifies each heartbeat
each contour of broken skin
each shallow breach of integrity,
and stop me if you've heard this one before, but
the lunged arc of my spine invokes
shrunken lungs and wax-dipped capillaries,
a ventral etiology of concern

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