is a red and blood full thing
a leach trilling in the chest
puffing and blowing

but then there are souls
and russian cities full of those
light as sheets some nights

it seems our bodies lie
upon nothing but electricity
crackling between our atriums

our vast hemispheres, our hearts.
But a heart is only a raw, bloody thing
and our bodies scaffolds of bone. Yet

somewhere still a purr
in our throats when a lip
havers at temple