an
æsthetic
and my anaesthetist
the creep opens an account
the science of how things are unknown via the senses
being dead I have no need for hands
and an
æstheticist
might have snatched them
I am halving fun in order to double my pleasure
in an amphitheatre to keep it surgical
nor a wristwatch and anaesthetized sis it's
it's my elbow anyway and it isn't numb
the anesthesiologist
the creep coming with a compound narcotic hiss
not to kill but only to deaden
being dead says
I have no need for hands
by accident he
the anæstheticist doesn't remember
having grabbed at a ratchet and anyway it
dismemberment isn't his job