CRIS DE COEUR

Emergency is the normal state of the body in love. Allegedly
Natty people dine nightly on meals of heart, lungs, brain.

Blinding white sheets, a noisome coldness, assaults my sense of smell,
And the clink of the surgical instrument twangs like metal on my tongue.

Lilith reluctantly leaves purgatory to tell me to lie still. Remonstrances and
Gainsayers abound; both sensa and viscera need rest. Constant rest.

Do formal rules of etiquette apply when eating internal organs?
I'd just as soon eat my heart out as cut out another's.

Hurtful words arrest hearts, constrict breathing, cause headaches:
"I remember you when you wasn't, and still ain't."

This dirgeful orison of death signals a genesis, I abscond
Into this place between heaven and hell-limbo.

Dossing down with a plebeian,
Nasty Rock swaggers away from the encounter

And, for the nonce, will no longer equate good sex with good love
Or confuse a muss of orbs with dusky stars.

Relationships never die in stages, but bodily organs do.
No pienso en nada más excepto la pirámide del Sol y la Luna y las Estrellas.

Let heart and lung and brain say amen
As this corpse and its folderols are committed once again to earth.