“The MRI,” by Paul Muldoon

By Paul Muldoon

Read by the author.

Again and again, we’ll put our shoulderto the wheelon which we’re broken. Stretched out at the heartof a replica of the stonesarcophagus we once believed to "eat flesh,"we still have a straight

shot at the Straitof Gibraltar. Where we first found a shoulderto cry on. Long before the flashof an iron-rimmed wheelon a limestonepavement. Where we first had a little heart

to heart.Where we first developed our sense of the straightand narrow. Threw the first stone.First rubbed shoulderswith pigment traders. First made a color wheel.First thought to flush

dyes through our own flesh,so as to map what lies within our hearts.First reinvented the wheelthat will run straightonly with a camber. First gave the cold shoulderto a pigment trader. First chipped away at limestone

till it actually looked like stone.First assigned a shoulder flashto the Airborne Division. First deigned to shoulderthe blame for what happened in the heartof Galicia. Long before we learned to lie straightas a die, though the planets wheel

and wheelabout us. Before we first secured a lodestoneto a merchantman. First entered the home straightwhere ore is crushed in the floshas the heartis ofttimes crushed. First put our shoulder

to that great wheel. Saw Anu in the flesh.First learned that a stone-faced doctor has the heartto give it to us straight from the shoulder.