Saturday, February 7, 2009

“Fish” the prophet spoke.
His cracked lips curled like his fish did.
“Brothers” he spoke again.
Fish brothers. We wondered.
We prodded our spears toward the prophet’s fish, some
more successful than others in sticking one.
“Star River” flowed from the prophet’s mouth
as we put down our spears, our nets, our hammer
and nails- we shuffled, scuttled out quietly
leaving behind the empty shore.


“Allow me,” the Doctor said, catching the flavor
dust falling from my crispy lips.
Grabbing the scapel, he drew open
the chest, removing organs, memory and sinew-
“You see, you need to make a clear incision,”
he ruffled as the dust stuck out from his wirey folicals,
“forget the blood-
tear out the heart-
fuck it until your patient can feel it
beating in the empty space.”
I took the heart in my hands
stabbing it instead
with the scalpel.
Cold steel fucking beating flesh.
I felt nothing. I returned it to its cavity, sewing along the way,
precisely stiched.
I felt nothing.
Absolutely nothing.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

holy crap.
my heart just stopped.