HEAD IN AN AMBULANCE Poem by Luiza Neto Jorge

There are cyclical wounds furious flights
inside rounded air sacs
wounds that are thought of at night
and break out in the morning

or that open up at night
and in the morning are thought of
along with the other thoughts
our organs are adept
at inventing like bandages

compresses helmets
sacraments
for securing the head
when it breaks away from us

when it's able to sense us
in a syncope or naked exposure
or in a more spacious error
or in a quieter letter
or in the torture chamber
in the dark chamber, of childhood.