Note From My Moleskine #8

July 26, 2009

24 July 2009
Buffalo, NY

“Disembarking the Flagship”

In a quiet, clinical office I sit, pinned to a chair by the weight of my dead heart.
The color has run out of everything in the room.
My seat cushion looks as though it was left in the rain.
The walls have been bleached, as if by accident.
The grays are muted grays.
My mind, though, is crisp, clear.
The death of one’s heart frees oxygen to the brain, and I destroy thought, chase it into corners and flay it with whips.
Coffee on my shirt and spittle in my mouth-corners.
Sweat friction callous brown and clingy on my right hand-heel.
I am an empty missile, a knife with no handle.

A president goes by.

I cannot read. I do not.
I am thought destroyed.
I am action.
My heart lives;
it can die many deaths.
I am a spinal cord.
Tattered gowns lie all around me.
I am a pencilled-in cipher —
I destroy hearts–
I am your food without your belly.

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