This Faulty Machine

how the body fights itself
my central blood pump
working furiously
sending oxygen to my muscles
preparing them for flight
when there is
no
danger
desperate, itself, to escape the cage of my ribs

my lungs are slow and sedate
hoping by their calm to quell
or at least conceal
my frantic struggle

a lesser machine would break down
a computer crash
a transmission grind
a cog bend or crumble
a pipe burst
when given these contradictory instructions
the body survives for years
decades
although never forever

how the body betrays itself
the private firing of neurons
written
in blood
on my cheeks
the tips of my ears
my neck
as a ballet across my face
a million tiny contractions forming
a shy smile or
a puzzled frown
before I can remind myself not to react

and even if I keep perfectly still
that over-zealous pump betrays itself
as a slight tremor of the gelatinous mammary tissue
strapped high on my chest
in the bindings of my elaborate costume

even my disguise reveals me

cellophane skin
ribs stretched wide
every function laid bare
the ocular organs
which should instruct
reflect
rather than reveal
they are the greatest traitors of all

this exposure penetrates deeper than nakedness.