As prosthetic wish-fulfillment. The second son is crumpled. Hinged by velcro and bios. What ripples the waking. The electric lights detuned to the present's imperfect pitch.
Watts cripple the aching.
The administered feedings, the strappings-on and off. The children plumped and pruned. A voice says don't, says can't, says yet. Each day is negative one. Scan the daily's horizon to see whose numbers've come up.