Wednesday, October 30, 2013

port

Snaking under the collarbone,
lifting out of the skin,
the port begins with
collapse,
begins
with
lost.

I have fears of surrender.

He's lost 6 pounds.
His body lifts as I unwrap the arm with the bloody tube.

the bloody tubes

the clear clean poisons

the constant mediation of the puncture

I have fears of undertow and deflation,

of us, port side

done.