My heart sliced itself open so that you might inspect what it contains.
My heart has a plan: all the sugar, twice the caffeine, and a jolt to shed its physical form and become a being of pure energy.
My heart has not learned how to double-jump.
My heart is a gift receipt.
My heart worships thunder—God’s pulse summoning it home.
My heart stretches itself across a frame—a rotting canvas desiring oil.
My heart—having been called pricklyone too many times—installs transdermal needles,anticipates its next embrace
My heart despises the label offal,grows anxious when served chopped liver.
My heart resents the muddied border between itself and host.
My heart savors 4’33”—concert halls made amplifierfor the body’s internal rhythms or, better yet, a living roommade amphitheater—it is an inexpensive date.
My heart--attempting to be more goth--drained its chambers of blood; & now, it is very thirsty.
My heart is the bull breaking the China.
My heart is best prepared with a quick scorching—its charred exterior still pulsing.
My heart sails the oceanfollowing Poseidon's disregard—another message in a bottleseeking a receiver.
My heart swells—an infectionto be drained.
My heart’s angular frameworkhosts—as if it were his job—each visitor unconcernedwith the commands triggeredby the most simple of gestures.
My heart is a weakness—amputated & buried—a harbinger warming my grave.
My heart, distrustful of humanity, synchronizes against the atomic clock.
My heart’s guard prays to Michael the Taxiarch.
My heart named itself Jonahand me, the whale.
My heart re-read’s Ai’s Cruelty,recalls making a gift of bandages& why it began writing with blood.
My heart a cappellasa bass line over its beatbox--a love song flowinga top the drums of war
My heart avulses veins, arteries, pericardium;transmogrifies armour out of a contractureof scars, its precious mewls into a vociferance.
My heart is of star stuff;it holds the cosmoswithin its chambers.
drawing after Ditkotext after Sagan
My heart wraps deflated balloonsaround exhaust pipesto twist the most poisonousof all balloon animals.
My heart crawlstrailing droolfrom its gurgling mouths.
My heart has eatenthe chickensthat were inthe fryer
and whichyou were probablysavingfor dinner
Forgive itthey were deliciousso crispyand so spicy
My heart spellsits name rigidlyas if to belieits perpetual motion.
My heart prepares the roastin a marinade of mustard--stone ground and loadedwith carolina reapers--all vinegar and heat and flesh.
My heart carries coin in its mouth for the ferryman and his tranquil journey.
My heart compresses the poison of its blood into a ruby--catching light in the cracks between facets.