His name is Japanese for 'explosive heat' -
it's also, he says, unfastening his suitcase's
brass clasps, the name he gives the ailment, taps
the carat of my ribs - "In here, chief?
Right-o, that's a nasty one. No, don't speak!
These things can go off any time, sunshine,
Ive seen ones that could atomise Parliament,
your hearts the barrel and this thing, chief,
thiss the burning taper. Sonly got to leap
like a flea, or a jumping bean, sunbeam,
skip like a record and your whole torsoll
go up like a sack of fireworks. Keep still, chief.
His cigarette tipped with a ziggurat, his teeth
cusped with blood, he makes an incision.
My chests the seat of something unstable
as the Second Triumvirate, making sleep
impossible. Hot-black as torched heath,
lodged like grapeshot. Ive heard such things
are regarded by some as blessings, weapons
to be broken in and put on a leash,
but where do you start? Hold still, chief!