Catering For The Heart That Leapt

Amertume,
an elm lodged below my feeling heart, tender
split wood, divorced worlds
crackling away under a blaze of corneas.




See, the bus wheels rolled,
got caught on it, surprise with a paper knife,
a single cut, surgery by my knowing mentality
upon itself;
bled then and there, on the seat,
with the wood jutting out of a corpse,
call it mine,
call it the scene of a suicide
(see the markings en craie, contours).

It's true what they said -
you put something in a circle, it dies.





Imagine ce qui se passe quand on brûle
the remains
would they be able to light another fire
for the warmth of another,
to increase the blood circulation
of another.

Just give them a push,
a prod,
and watch the hemoglobin tip.