Laying on my bed, I think I am implanted with steel receiving wires
at various times present in my thigh
or head or back, sometimes I hear a voice
in the inner arch of my hand:
I lick it and get the faint electric tingling
as smooth as vibrations, feeling so pleasant
and uncomplainable, like a measure
of its incredible shape
Pieces of the body float in space
metaphors for disjointed voicedness
I am 'the hand'; you are 'the miracle'; we win
'the dispute'
and whistle-led I hear you
thorugh the aching of my ears
no more
real
no more