So what will I do
With my heart?

What will I do with it
Today
Or tomorrow,
How much does it owe,
(How much did it borrow?)

Is it daggered into my
Chest with ruby darts?
Is it butcher wrapped
In class-passed
Love notes,
Or shrink wrapped carnations?
Is it waiting around
For the perfect donation?

And what will I do with my head?

Is it getting bigger?
Will it slot into a shelf?
Is it killing me?
Will it fix itself?

What will I do with it
Next week,
Or next year?
Will it be William Blake
Or Edmund Lear?
(MRI:
blooms - blushes – stains,
This boy’s got roses
on the brain!)

And what will I do with my hands?

What will I do with them
For the rest of my days?
Will they stick to my lap?
Will they flutter away?

Will they get even worse
At unscrewing lids?
Will they shake sticks
at the neighbours kids?

What will I do with my body?
Will it see me through?

What will it do with me?
What will it do?