For Bob Flanagan

We have not yet determined
What a body can do
What death can do

One’s own death indefinitely
Deferred yet certain
Pain becomes the only thing

We can control we have not
Yet determined what the body
Can do the body in pain

Sculpting it surviving despite
Other acts of grace
Drive a nail through your dick

You land on your feet
Pain is a dance with death
Piercing your life your

Lung-filled breasts live
Because you permit
The only mastery left to them.