Lady Lazarus is inconsiderate,

is me,

is leaking.

 

I’m the jacket I wear when I’m cold,

my body the lampshade

through which my power dims.

 

Heart half eaten,

a delicacy like mitten snow.

 

Why are there no bridges through the white?

 

bridges of scarves

of maniacs

of salacious science?

 

It is science that brings me a piece of me

in a syringe, in a capsule.

 

Oh, thank you, Science!

 

Sunken souls mourn anchors

that brawl beneath the brink.

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