It’s the way you stared at my open chest,
I sighed and out came my heart, it leapt,
Crawled across the country,
Formed a union,
Granted social cause,
It left me for dead,
You slept inside the fresh wound,
Ran your fingers along the stitches to be,
Sisters and brothers laughed.
Useless inventions cast aside,
Mystic bandages soaked in kerosene
And burned upon reading,
Like books about Jesus before his birth,
And letters to Frances Farmer in utero,
I’ll soon go to Rome (nouveux)
Red brick cathedrals,
Stucco statues of horses without riders,
Cheap imitation cities,
Frayed carpets line the streets,
And when you wake up an organ has been freed
From your body.

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