Bleats

Ah f**k the heart anyway

useless organ that it is with its

bleats and beat

and moonsick sighs f**k that noise

I’d rather the lungs that breathe

vapor in this cool morning air

or the fingers that still remember warmth

or my lips that still kiss the

embrace of alcohol;

F**k the heart anyway

useless organ that it is

shriveled and withered I’ve

offered it on a platter to strangers

and that’s just bullshit;

F**k the heart anyway

useless organ that it is

full of aches and promises

I’d rather the mind with its

mechanical progressions

than spend my life caught

up between beats

and bleats.