Lady Lazarus is inconsiderate,
is me,
is leaking.
I’m the jacket I wear when I’m cold,
my body the lampshade
through which my power dims.
Heart half eaten,
a delicacy like mitten snow.
Why are there no bridges through the white?
bridges of scarves
of maniacs
of salacious science?
It is science that brings me a piece of me
in a syringe, in a capsule.
Oh, thank you, Science!
Sunken souls mourn anchors
that brawl beneath the brink.