Monkey Heart
       

Pick, it up.
Consider it a machine.
Put it down.
Remember you need it.
Go back to where you left it,
Airport terminal, donut shop
seventh grade. Are you scared?
It's ok. So am I.
We a wet rag. Put it on your head.
Let's retrace your steps.
Do you love your wife?
Is she made of dolphins?
I love my fucking life.
Even my secrets
and the terrible things I've done.
They're like small smooth stones
in a green plastic bottle
with no label. What were we doing?
Driving down a long dark area?
Does it feel exactly right?
Little fist that pumps the blood.
The flicker in your empty.

Copyright © 2009 Ben Mirov All rights reserved
from I is to Vorticism
New Michigan Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission