My words have been stolen
as I put my heart upon the shelf
quivering in it's sudden new position
cold and vulnerable
outside of it's bone prison
which gave airs of security, protection
what a mistake, that.
The daggers ****** between
proving the weak points of the
flesh to be real
and not phantoms.
After a long talk
we both decided it would
be safer on the altar.
It seems my argument
made sense
since my heart agreed
wholly and without reservation.
In the night we have long
conversations
my heart and I
calling to me from it's new
residence
asking when it can come home again
weary of the cold
and trembling when a stranger
walks too closely by
I reassure - even when they peer
closely at the jumble around you
you remain invisible
my voodoo is that strong
It agrees with a wet, thumping sigh
wistful and nostalgic
for the incessant whispering
of the Siamese twins
named, unoriginally, the Lungs.
It wonders what treasures
the gurgling idiot stomach
is dissolving today without judgment
(unless, of course, the stomach is throwing a tantrum
and decides to toss everything back out.)
I understand
these are the musings of an *****
misplaced
who misses home and forgets
the pain which drove it away.
If only my brain would forget
that old library
huge and dusty as a mausoleum
never throws anything out
just shelves it and adds it's placement
in the card catalogue
(If only it would upgrade - cross-referencing and rediscovery
would be easier.)
However, the librarian holds grudges
when the heart has been
played with too roughly
and keeps the pain files on her desk
constantly rifled through and
shuffled, reshuffled, shuffled again
"One day I'll have enough to write a book"
she mumbles over the complaints
of my heart as it bleats and moans
about it's new home
She doesn't hear it - it's too far away
from the Central Nervous System
for the message to be transmitted
in the proper form.
When she remembers
that ole librarian of my brain
where the heart has gone
she stops to listen
and in anger over it's pathetic pleas
she cries
"We have not learned
So you cannot return
If I did as you request
We would take back up the quest
And we all know...
He -
He -
He... "
She breaks down in literary sobs
reminding the heart of
the nature of it's exile
and why
it's truly
for
the best.