Eight Lines on Burning My Hand and Other Poems

Eight Lines on Burning My Hand

The radiator pipe is wrapped in frayed
rope and silver foil to prevent me
from burning myself, but I like the kind of heat
I am just able to stand, and I like knowing
I can remove my hand the second
it becomes too much for me—to be given
too much in manageable doses, to test my limits,
even though it teaches me nothing.

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