Litkicks Message Board Archive

this thing, this heart

Posted to Poetry




it's just a hollow organ
a circulator of blood
a tin can
nothing more
or is it
emotion with legs
a blind beggar's cup
raised to our lips
or is it a house
a church of the soul
four walls, four rooms
all that is left of what the
mind leaves behind
those crushing things
like courage or grief
in the dark
what spark jumpstarts the heart
burns the inside out again
bathes it with blood
imagine six billion hearts
give or take maybe two
six billion disembodied hearts
if you break them in two
that gives you twelve billion
listless not blooded not full
but scarred by the acid
marking their walls
I will seal them all up
stitch them as one
one big giant gargantuan heart
this thing made of muscle
this red spot of love
gripped now by
the size, the skin of my fist
the size of the sun
growing larger with light
this heart, this thing that I hold in my hand
I hear it singing, do you?