R.C. Perl Quadriplegia Some people occupy their bodies as a tourist in a motor home, moving it back and forth, the last location same as the first. These jerky movements, this mouth and tongue, electric wheel chair controlled by my right thumb, are not me. When we meet, I want you to know I am a poet. The chimera lives in your mythology, grotesque warring parts... a lion head, a goat body, and a serpent tail. This finger can sing without lips. Some of us live our lives sparingly, the way a sunlit carpet contents a cat, or a digit completes a word.

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