Flap-Hearted
You have a knack
for using a
claw
I cannot see,
and tearing
the beating-meat
of me
you reach
inside under the
vest where chest is pumping
and you tear a
'v'
of pain
it folds down
over, hanging
sad
on the
inside label
all it says is, do not staple,
fold or
mutil-
(late is
gone.)
R.I.P.
Unroll the sod, the seeded car
pet. Give me rain
ment-
any
dirt'll
do for
I need sleep
and I am used
as
thoughts are lost, as life is dream
as words are more than
....what they seem.
Looking
Porcine
portraits, how you love
the
pinks
and
reds
the
open
slackness, flesh like
inner
tubed
resiliency
where
I have
only
blackness of
eye- a bird
like
brilliance
deep inside
and
buttons
all
the way
up
my life.
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