Return to Sender

Maybe the heart is a dumpster

out of the way, round back

behind a grocery store

stock-barreled and guarded

filled and discarded

going to waste out there

it could be a filthy, dirty joke

cautiously told and well timed

in plastered poor company

too true

its not quite the ballet or symphony

but nonetheless entertaining

who knows?

a red balloon or a wide-tooth comb?

perhaps a grimy sock forgotten

on the bottom of your tomb;

just a little something for the maid to pick up

as she’s dusting off the bones

It may very well be

that the slippery heart

should not be explained

with ringlets and ribbons

dolling up blood in metaphor,

but instead it is quite practical

so then I say,

carve up your heart,

press it to your palm

and listen to the thump, thump, thump,

as it pumps in and out

hands red? Good. Then

rub it up-side your neck

like ladies do while bathing,

spill some on shirt sleeves,

splatter the walls,

stain the gravel leading to town

write it all down!

share any findings,

and let them spread…..

for where the heart

may be discerned,

by words or otherwise

someone has made plenty sure

there will always be enough

scy 2007