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