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
