Frankenstein’s Bride

he is in me     
they are in me    
hands      machines

copper wire threads up my uterus

  they peel back the dermis
 peel back the fascia      the muscle    staple the layers
   under my breasts to hold them in place

my grandfather’s tractor drags rotating disks   
   plows my liver     my bladder
 
   they shoot rays into me     
   they picture my bones    irradiate my blood

 myself on the screens above    
 white hieroglyphs on blue paper
     I shudder in pixels         

I am shorn    the razors are my warm metal friends   
my legs
my cunt      my upper lip

  they raise my ovaries with chopsticks   
  white as sleeping faces     they carve smiles into
       slick pale viscera     

   two thousand 
dead fireflies electrified             they blow on my womb
foul rat breath       try to start a fire   

   they have lost something here   
they will find him               the intern has disappeared   
sculptors of blood and bile and circuits      they will carve him out of me

   under my tongue they sew a socket    
   AC/DC  flows down my collar bones  
       my vertebra  
 I cough a ghost’s name    
her name         they ask my husband to come in    
    and hold me down