The Physical Heart

 

Bring me your earliest hunger
wrapped in paper. I too
am lost from my tribe.

                 One day you had
     one handful
               to eat.

               Now
            you are assembled

in bird cages, typewriters, dentists' chairs,
baby spoons, mannequins, thimbles and
expensive silver earrings
thin as needles and when I lose one,
   you buy me more.

        Swallowing
the physical heart
it enters hard
           wanting graft
                 to the hidden chamber,

so every breath entering
                     must tread
around its mass
                     observe its face

like a husk
                  undigested.
                                 In the kidneys
I remember,
                 in the liver,

in the sponge bore of stomach
encrusted with scarlet,

                 in vertebrae's thick knotting, the fat penguin rosary
           of the spleen, its ruminating
ink blotting, I
                 remember, in the dark holy impress
of the lungs,
      in the choked-weed dreaming
of the genitals that grow woolen,
dream latest, I remember

                     your earliest hunger, wrapped
in paper
            and brought
            to the famish of adulthood. And there was
all during those days
                    one moment when
you were nothing to me. One
                  moment. Nothing
more than what you are now.

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