how do you discover yourself
without cutting yourself open? at times
i want to peer into my skin. infrared
heat of my organs still glowing invisible.
even if i withstood the pain of driving
the knife-blade down the center
of my body as if to gut myself, fish
for the clues of who i am by of what
i am comprised, what would i find?
an anatomical heart. raw muscle. a wet fist
clenched. coils of flesh tubing—and in it
juices—slick red and pink and marbled
with blue veins. i want to pull out the mystery
and scarf it around my neck like a noose until
i too am blue with epiphany. would i find
more gold, the source of it, the earth’s rock-
core, carbon-rich mantle churning charcoal
into crystal diamond, hope-blue, specked with
mineral, all black and red-hot, millions of years,
the dust of dead giants or just my liver?
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