Fall 1993 • Vol. XV No. 4 Science, Science Fiction and Poetry |

Technology and Medicine

The transformation is complete. My eyes Are microscopes and cathode X-ray tubes In one, so I can see bacteria, Your underwear, and even through to bones. My hands are hypodermic needles, touch Turned into blood: I need to know your salts And chemistries, a kind of intimacy That won't bear pondering. It's more than love, More weird than ESP—my mouth, for instance, So small and sharp, a dry computer chip That never gets to kiss or taste or tell A brief truth like "You're beautiful," or worse, "You're crying just like me, you are alive."

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The Distant Moon

By Rafael Campo

The transformation is complete. My eyes Are microscopes and cathode X-ray tubes In one, so I can see bacteria, Your underwear, and even through to bones. My hands are hypodermic […]

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