April 10, 2017
You beat metronomically, ventricles
brassy as tacks, and there is no swish
swish, no frou-frou to disrupt
your carefully boxed geometry.
You have been abstracted, so
as to embody accuracy, but you are the
piece of paper, placed on the chest
of he who faces the guns. Accurate,
to the point of pornography,
no weak slush of blood
no missed, syncopated beat
punctuates your perfection.
Anatomical heart is only a step to the side
of atomic: atta boy! Go fetch energy!
Anatomical love knows nothing of doubt.
Lke a web from that anatomical heart —
anatomy of certainty clutches,
squashing ambiguity. Neurotypical heart,
stomping diverse beats. (Red is red is red.)
O for an autistic heart,
stimming each second,
bloody minded flicker of thought.
Sweet opener of Aladdins of knowledge,
within the chest and also without,
questioning whyer of refusal —
of the one way arteries of thought.
After a short break, the blog with a big heart is back…
Seriously though, I like this poem more than many others I have written recently, hence my popping it up here rather than hoarding it for a journal.
I don’t agree with a certain trend in some poetry to eschew ideas. Hence this poem is stuffed with them, even clogged with and attacked by them.
Next week; livers and bright lights.