Two Compartment Heart
for Nate Pritts
Once, I built a corporation from complaints
like I am not sure there is enough hand sanitizer to save us all.
Once, an old man told a waitress I want
to use bad words but I don't know any.
Sometimes I feel like I can't feel
reckless but at that very moment
I might be just all swollen as hell
poking at the ground with my scepter
made from unreliable materials.
Or that moment where the terror
suspect comes floating out my mouth.
When all I really want is some hummus
and shots of poetic & human decency. This time around
April is an especially cold son of a bitch.
Once, I was walking into present tense darkness
so that my back was surely licked by light, at least.
I turned around so many times that my two-compartment
heart leapt out a window made from less remarkable tears.
Look where it got me in this wilderness, as seen
from the edge of a digital mapping system.
Scientists will give you their phone number banking on the fact
it's a surefire way to make you choose to eat the cake.
It's our emotional and logical head architectures
fighting that will save us in the end.
Once the idea of god was nothing really
to do with America and I was a patriotic wooden horse.
Hours I rode around the town unhindered.
Some people even called me Buttercup.
I play for hours turning my particles inside out, then vacuuming
the television wonderful. I get stupid chanting
I will become the fist of goodness
over and again and backwards, big explosion
in a sewing needle. The birds,
everywhere, evasive around chicken wire.
My produce suffers because I say it does.
I can't even say these strawberries
real, can't figure out how to tease my hair
when I day dream about an electric-
follicled megaphone from Cincinnati.
Where art thou really from, Billboard? you chanting
attraction? I feel like I am coasting
nothing, broken fuselage of air turning into a downpour.
I want something to matter in any state,
and I want to feed you, celebrate now,
get big with an occurrence
woven inside others: the trees in a wilt,
the sand collecting in our pockets.