the anatomy lecture
february 21, 98; black bldg @ columbia university

i can feel the bulge of my calves.
i can see, can breathe
can think, can write,
but one before me does not.
instead his tendons, his muscles
his being, being pulled and played
and flipped and flopped, around
i cannot even see who it is
a white piece of cheap cloth
wraps his head shut.
bands of rubber rope wraps his muscles together
i imagine his spirit soaring over the lecture room
above our bodies --
whose eyes see, whose lungs breathe,
whose blood flows, and whose hands
doodling away on some white paged sketch pads
"oh poor me" i'd hear him whisper.
"what have they done?"
and i sit here wondering,
"how'd he die? how'd he die?"...

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