Heart

this heart is poseidon roaming
turmoiled oceans of other people's lives
trident clutched to a fallow breast

this heart is a wheel turning
on the track of days wearing
its tread away like skin

this heart is a hunter
cross-pollinating the random universe
in search of death and/or resurrection

Nobody really knows.

I hump my pillow in
the empty chamber of this day
trying to discover some reason

but nothing equals nothing
the ratiocination of time
is as close to a true story
as you can get

(and I am)
alone and horny, afraid of love

this guy pain is an omnipresent priest
at the altar of this heart
he waves his hand, requiring my sorrow
he waves his whip, expecting her forgiveness

This poem comes from the years living alone after Becky Bradway abandoned me for her vision of a world without an incestuous father and with a famous and successful poet. I was pretty sad in that time. Having Paige kept me alive. Without her I would certainly have made Becky's first wish, for my suicide, come true.