The Whole in a Heart

There’s no peace in a heart, it is a bicycle that has pedals but no brakes, deep within its bloody core it beats like a woodpecker pecks the maple from a maple tree, there it is frozen from the terse chill of winter melancholy, but shoots a fire from its mouth like a dragon or an unkind person, and it has no visible constraints, no bleeps or editorial correction, it is larger than a season and smaller than regret, when the winds whip-up on the cape near the shore in the grass it widens like a spinnaker and sails to Spain on that hoary zephyr, it may return on the backs of whales, or perhaps faster on the jolt of god’s sporadic sneeze, and it capsizes on those blusters again and again, somehow righting itself in its involuntary progression through the tides of arteries, oceans themselves in the unrelenting view of an amoeba, it’s very embarrassing and distant cousin that likes to crash parties and drinks too much… a heart heartily objects to all the mayhem that surrounds its one occupation: to feel so unnecessarily sometimes that it makes waves instead of riding them, but who is to say what comes from what, or who comes from whom when you’re just trying to exist, definitions are blurred and intentions are questioned, but it keeps on swimmingly through time and dimension till we’re gone or repurposed, till everyone wants a slice of that pie that seems like it’s for free, but there’s no piece in a heart, it won’t stay you see…