The Ball of Human Cells Speaks to the Double Helix
I first awoke tingling all of my cells popping in two, strings
of sugars and phosphors twirling to life inside me. I am
a cluster of gum balls in a glass balloon. The things
I know are small: my sugary middles, you like a drizzle of icing,
spelling out your precise design. Each whirl of the script
deceives me. Tell me will I become a daffodil and gaze
at the grasses through my yellow telescope. A fruit fly clutching
the hairs of a strawberry. Nothing makes sense to me now.
What about my long arms. What to do with my thumb.
And if I am a bundle of gum balls, then where is my sticky-
mouthed child. If I shook out your coils, counted
the times I could jump rope without tripping,
would that be the answer. If I strung you up like a ladder
bridge and climbed across. Surely I am not the child. And if I am,
then look around. Where is my gum ball machine. 
The Ball of Human Cells Speaks to the Double Helix
The Homunculus Speaks from the Bed of the Ovarian Dermoid Cyst
The Lambs Wool Strap Speaks from the Gurney, 1915
No Midwives Can Do What Angels Can