Sometimes I see myself
from above, like in a
surgical theatre (and what
a nice sounding place, like
maybe you might see
some Beckett or even
a musical) but no
only the sound of
bones under a
saw and the light!
is way too bright and
the steel gleams
with a music all
its own
(a speculum
against the side of
a metal bowl, the
chorus of prying
me open from
far away, like
a train passing
caught in a
breeze)

I want to scream but
my words come out
all funny and sprayed
with smiling nurses
overcome by the
sound of suction
(I pass into death once
once more as someone
finally closes the
door)

(I wonder to myself
how long have I had
all of these extra parts
and pieces and how
did they stay in place
me, this jigsaw puzzle
all undone?)

I am under a press that
guides my blood and fat
into a doll with arms and legs
that move (see?) just like
you

I am under a mirror
held in place by thin
and green stems- I fall in
and then out of my cage
of consciousness, like
a braid

I wonder, my slippery words
(are they inside or outside of me?)
WHERE ARE THE FLOWERS?
at the end of the stems
the last word, a gust of a word
smiling nurse hovers close
to my ear (there are)
none