In A Kidney Dish

Seventeen months and six days ago,
with practice that could only be attached
to a pair of nitrile gloves,
they pulled apart generations of stratified tissue,
classified the human from the mammal
and presented the results on a stainless steel tray.

I will not know how it feels to know
that we are not made of feather-weight stardust,
but a taut, twisted, leaden and sinewy textile.
You had no choice of relief from your grown-up cosmology.

In that moment I wished that my veins
could breathe into your ventricles, only
we have been so flawlessly dissected,
like pieces of abandoned anatomy:

Paradoxes of flow that have no physical direction
with a palpable destination and
a severed organ heaved out by forces unknown to man
and his concillium of consultant taxonomists.

The writing was brandished onto the wall
of the delivery ward
in an alphabet anyone could comprehend,
should they only accept
what revelation is.


AMS-H is a European artist

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