expanding
                   contracting
then swallowing me whole

as the nurse pushes my chair
into a chrome corner
surrounded by pieces of me

images split
          and shivering
eye
          nose
                   mouth
a bit of ear

specimens banked
          side by side,
          stiffening
in the artificial arctic air.

I can feel the oxygen tanks
their hollow-hearted clangs
reverberating into my chest

while,
          blocked and sliced,
I pass the time

reading warning labels
punctuated by
                   disembodied voices
behind the curtain next door:

Caution: Avoid Open Flame
                   It’s getting late. Do you have your coat?
Handle with Care
                   We should leave now; I don’t want to get stuck
May Cause Death or Dismemberment
                   in the traffic on the Pike.

Turning to the window,
I see through my face
into the office building parallel

a wall of cubicles lit behind my eyes:
my head the endless rows
of floating fluorescent lights

like the terracotta warriors,
that eternal army extending
          so orderly and evenly spaced

suspended in time.

And I start to think
about the people beneath those lights,
trapped below my cheekbones

I imagine them, watching the clock
                   hoping for 5 p.m.
their release into freedom.

Do they ever look into the glass
     and reflect on the rows of us
fighting our own battles here?

Fragile and frozen as the terracotta, perhaps.

Then I remember what time does
          to those warriors

their black holes gaping here and there

missing a foot
                    a hand
                              an arm

maybe even a head.

And I watch my opening mouth
          swallowing the lights

as I tell them:

          time escapes us.