Zmonde

like an atomic fact we’ll gather around you
at the cricket game
or craniotomist’s congress. there’s
no one else 
we’re lost
unorganised
an unrelieved map or network. doctor
i can’t find the pulse here.
nurse!!!!!! swab! nurse!!!!!!
40ccs!! swaaaab!!!!

i’m so sorry, 
she said later, the craniotobot
clasping a clipboard behind her back
as he crumpled to the caustic lino
& a triage trolley bumped him to the water cooler
clawing fingers
a mourning pinball of molecular hurt
& just bright lights & wiper eyes, hospital shapes & crash
the craniotobot turning away: i’m sorry
but it seems
she was frightened of the names...
come baaaaack!!!!

…& so they are already en-velo 
before the sun greets the cryo-vines. 
what? 
provincial switzerland?
hammy hill?
lagos?
sinus meridiani?
it’s a difference of opinion;
the slops bucket of areography
its warped power output;
the distinction that’s there
breathing the same     air
comparing the same beards
proclaiming the same historical methods
driving sticky fingers
into the…