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The Fallen Speared Heart
I keep broken promises as souvenirs
in the basement, stacked high, holding
dying shells in jars; organs bumping and
grinding against clear glass, graying its luster,
losing the same markings they've had years before.
I hear its whispery schlep like snails
gathering in the rain, for a sacrifice
of meringue pie, revolving doors which open and
close for blood flow, a centrifuge for the wounded soul
rotating in preservatives to lay
around and around.
I make deep cuts in your outer whorl
spiraling like a steel whale fin splashing,
ventricles gushing, pumping
lub-dub lub-dub moaning its flapper
of love, sonar sounds shortening
as I draw you closer to my chest
give me back my heart, darling,
give me back my heart.