Something blooms in the chest crying disarray
and the whole world is going under
that is what the doctor said,                    what was it
that the doctor said? Remember when
he wore that button-down, leather
belt, those jeans?
Remember when Ophelia dies? I ask.
(Fatalism shows fire in me.)
He takes a Sharpie, presses
on my nipple and he pricks me,
oh heavenly imperfection, oh open orifice.
I see his deep blue leaning over me
and he is speaking slugs. My voice
maintains just enough momentum
to keep in touch                    the countdown
in waning utterances I mumble, Body
I am giving up on you.