With Death, Tupelo I.C.U.

We talk of tubing, their curves
Plastic? Rubber? Your touch

Flexible but my skin burns
You. Instead you shout into

My mouth. The echoes we
Watch bounce the lines

On the machines. Monitors.
Motors. We talk of karaoke.

Of the kidney bean plastic
Vomit buckets. Just right.

You twist the EKG snaps
Which too fucks the bouncing

Line of my heart. The nurse
Bunches in. Tells me to quit

Playing around Mr. Vickers.
I’m twenty-four. A new Mr.

We laugh about her. I dare
You. The black cloak arches.

You reach beneath my skin.
How I’m connected by hooks

And eyes. Strings and Wires.
Which you undo. I vomit. Twist.

Then I’m loosed. Roll about.
You shake the hospital bed

To bring the glowing small of me
Up to rest behind my eye.

Then you lean close to me.
Peek-a-boo. We see.