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In the Scanner
Head up, into the brain scanner, A machine for a skull-cap, strapped in To prevent wandering, idle thoughts. Technicians, trolling their keyboards, Take only the best men, Only the best people put their heads In the snare, in the chrome room, In the plastic hospital, in the tin city. In the tin city. The machine is counting Its own revolutions around the skull, Touching a dumb probe to spot after spot In the skull, in the brain, for the soft spot, The inevitable corruption of the spirit. Only the best people are aware enough to be sick, To want, to desire, counting the revolutions As the brain turns around in its snare. As the brain turns around, snared by its knowledge, The body upside down in its grip, Held there by fiat, by fate, by centrifical force The self spinning around. Or thrust, head down, Into the chrome, into the vault underground Like a miner for tin, for gold, who crawls on his back Head-first, into the hole he has made that goes Under the river-bed, under the city, belly up, Belly down, pressed against clay, arms barely able To scrabble forward to the spot last pressed To release the ore, the gold, the dark sore To be seen where the light underground is tied to a spot With his shape and no more, the spot in the scanner, Deep in the earth where it turns round, the snare For the spirit turning round as though it would never let go. —Robley Evans
Robley Evans lives in Connecticut. Originally published in the January/February
2006 issue of Boston Review |
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