i’m just intestines



pink and squirming
screaming, alive

the angry bird-heart in the mouth of a cat
still thumps
grasps for some meaning in these untimely events

and my head
the inside of a rattle
all the beads fall senselessly

sharp noise which cuts the air like a knife
but cuts it deep
and hollows it out
like love

and softer still
and from inside,
a voice

spouting out from the throat of a man
who i did love, once

his yell
answers mine

our intestines and intentions
finally aligned