Doppler

One long finger snakes through fissures

in the skull, weaving its black trail, flagging.

Pulses are symphonic, still not caught by muscles

             longer in the limbs

contracting in stasis.

The drumming is made tight.

The heart beats quieter. No,

the heart

opens in mouths.

A new phalanx, breathing

cuts itself into nervous sections.

One is given a word. One is told that

this is what happens. Meanwhile,

two bloods go on colliding in the chambers,

located as they are in the swamp

of the torso.

                  Only the knowledge

ratchets itself into spiked capstans.

At the very least

I am welding a second self, still

tangled in the first.