At the end of the privacy of my body

techs infuse my autonomic function

with intention and vitality.


My veins lie in their bed

but I want to declare my readiness

to be broken into. They say my veins


jump and flip, they say my veins roll

and hide: but to see my body stand against

one who has come to help is another failure.


The tech gets out the twenty-three-gauge needle

and whatever snaps shut in the tight space

of the intake station: more people



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