I am one. Singular.

You do not even try

to connect. Forget the

vials of medicine. The

soporific salts. The miles

of electrodes, the sticky

glue that follows, leaves

my skin thick with tack.

Pale, why I am the dead

revived! Not a wife

but a long-ago mistake.

Each days sends the message:

not enough, not enough.

I used to crumble beneath

the weight of it. No more.

All day you sit straight-backed,

clickety clack. Believe this allows

you some superiority –

As if really, you were smarter.

As if because you do not seize

you seize the greatness of things

I could never comprehend.

Pull a silver fish from the bucket.

Slit the gut and take a life.

The entrails spill out.

Your bloodied hands tell the tale.

So love – tell me my future.