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All the science of euergetes,
the beautiful panorama of institutes,
of schermographies and tomographies
can only eviscerate you more than pain,
solve with steel the uncertainties,
of anal-vulvar deformities:
to balance with damage, to suggest
the bloody shortening of the limb
(and ask me whether I hate promises),
and torment imperfection a little,
the sad twin of your little heart:
the small, blind, dumb animal,
the bat in too little light,
the line in the ultra-violet spectrum,
the obtuse triceratops moving forward
head down, striking the belly.