If separated on either side
of a barrier, two live heart-cells

will sync and beat in time.
And the deer all winter

follow each other
past your kitchen window

every evening – one
venturing first and the others

trailing in line. “Too bad
technology has overridden the soul

and we can no longer experience
true thinking. Not even

the President has power
anymore.” You share this fact

with the doctor who is monitoring
your heart. He could

perform an ECG from three feet
outside your chest if needed,

the electromagnetic force
of the organ is that strong. “Really,”

he says, “our hearts could
each power a small light bulb.” “Now

that would be a useful technology,”
you say dryly, “But seriously,

there’s no escape from all this
madness but to abandon the whole

doomed ship of modern culture
and move off to the jungle.”

A return to primitive, real life.
Fruit and sex and weather

and genuine work. Illness
could be mystical again.

You could even sleep out
under the glorious stars where

a snake the exact diameter
of your throat would find you,

crawl in through your mouth
and devour every system.


I’m on the floor. Most desks / are broken. Blink. That’s not — / They interrupt: Don’t be

Two Poems by Ananda Lima

As I wait for people / in hazmat suits / I am afraid / of forgetting / but I am more afraid / of remembering