Anaesthesia

Reasoned silence beats blood

Under the skin of this tambourine,

Teaching wooden fingers to thread love

From a man-made machine;

As needles quilt linens

Into bedspreads of boundaries,

I sleep in blankets of inhibition,

Learning to sew nerve-endings

On pillowed intimacy,

So that I can fall asleep feeling

More than just the requiems of a synthetic reality.

I operate under requisites,

Painting premature canvases

With explicit habit,

Embellishing stylized scripts

To match postmodern wit,

And anatomizing body after body

For a language more complex

Than the usual tendency

Hoping they’ll study me with the same tenacity

As his anaesthetic human art

Because blue eyes can’t be the only colour to coalesce this heart.