Closed Heart (Actually, Locked Heart In this Case.)
26th day of National Poetry Month; a busy, social day, in which it was very very hard to come up with a poem draft. (As followers of this blog know, I’m “celebrating” National Poetry Month, by writing a draft poem a day. I hope you too are trying some.)
Horizon of the Closed Heart
The horizon of the closed heart is very short.
It is not like sun on water, that orb of glisten
that swallows the sea, and then is swallowed by it.
It is not like snow on mountains,
amazingly there in May, a dust of lost white.
Not even like a tall building edging the sky,
a compass hand to point this way as downtown,
this way up.
It lurks in the belly, pelvis, thighs; darts
into the forehead; but what it mainly does
is bind the chest, a second set of ribs bruised
by all the bumping into, bouncing back,
those reflections of the self turned in on itself,
the self, the self, the self, and all that it wants,
all that it lacks, spread thinly upon a small, mean space.
ManicDDaily 
Recent Comments