We've gone pale all over, a capital drainthrough which forever is stripped of its or—manufactured selection reduced to fever.The fetish of radiant tragedies, handmaidensdressed in collateral adjectives. Aren't werendered a menagerie? A dilutedzoomorphic palette, our racked bodies, kittens& rabbits & sunsets & sordid red satingoddesses. The altar a pedestaled cage. Our hairfeeds the fibrous needs of the heavens. Queensof miserable. It says all this here, in the doctor'sscript, his terrible cursive. Patriarchy's bloat& interlock. Exploit & cramp.We ailment & scorn. Barely a sign, thesebroken hearts, broken bones, broken lungs. Caughtin centuries of wound, ever afterof the world. Its rhythms of subjugation.The body is simply an extension, a spasmof the wound. The world. The choral refrainof experts: it's all in our headsin our heads      in our heads.The choral refrain of despots& hoarders of gain, of gatekeepers &too many men: it's all in our headsin our heads      in our heads       in ourheads. Let the body speak (of its illnesses, itsdispossessions), declare its stolen. Let the bodysay it for you. A crown-to-heel testimony,inflammatory indeed.Summon the memory, the nebulousconditions of our devastation. Summonthe acute & chronic aftermath. The throb& burn of aperture & rift. Drastic shapescall for what will be deemed drastic measures:from the outside, orchestral noise abounds.We know how to handle each other'sblood. How to butter our bread.I learn the names of your mothers, you mine.Study the sounds of your dispossessions,the pace of your pulse under upheaval,laughter masking stiff tissue form. I your& you mine, I your & you mine.Our wounds, our bodies & their becomings.A fetal universe in lambent hungers.A snow early & long in the arms, but herewe are, coruscating against invasion,vining our way up through it.A mess of aching limbs devoted to the light.Staggering, isn't it?How improbable we are.