Arsenic Lobster
poetry journal |
Issue Nine Winter 2005 |
|
MIDDLE LIFE (II) Rob Cook A man removes his heart so he can sleep There is no sound where his heart was You look into his ears where the snow’s already begun If you stop breathing you can hear his heart floating in a glass of Polident It does not cry or sing but copies the moon anyway You build a fire in his mouth and huddle there, eating the embers that lead through the forest, the miles of his voice buried by dogs You draw water from his jawline to survive and in his eyes two men remove each other’s flesh with love, the songs katydids make chewing holes in each other for a place to rest |