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JAMA. 2004;292:1016.

	Since this article does not have an abstract, we have provided the first 150 words of the full text and any section headings.

I'm drawn to the jargon of repair,
the sound of specialized language.
My uncle invoked electrical magic:
armatures, windings,
capacitors, resistors.
I asked if his ohm-meter
could measure meditation,
he couldn't see what was so funny.

I'm intrigued
by garage poetics, the talk of mechanics
(when divorced from the bill),
the greasy esoterica
stay with me.
Throw-out bearings, McPherson struts,
camber & caster & top dead center,
the cosmic implications of universal joints.
Tantalizing terms,
incantations of restoration.

Now it's starting to show through,
the black canvas on which my images
of the world are painted,
and I am so like my eyes,
absorbent pupils,
learning the terminology
of ophthalmology.
Aqueous humor, fovea centralis.
There's trouble in the trabecular meshwork.
I've peeked ahead
to the back of the book
and seen some bad ones:
absolute glaucoma, snuff-out effect.
The eye doctor floats in miotic darkness
behind the slit-lamp,
then climbs . . . [Full Text of this Article]

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