Poetry Night

Her poetry made me uncomfortable.

Not because it was bad, quite not. But because it brought to mind her heart hanging by a bloody tendril and swinging like a pendulum between her large, billowy bosoms. I see inside her cavernous lungs, her heart awaiting a careless snip.

Just keep walking, folks. Don’t mind my heart splattered all over the asphalt. There are plans to hose down the sidewalk. Try not to step on any arteries. The concrete looks stained. Don’t worry too much, though. Those slabs will be pried loose and discarded. New cement will be poured. Mind it, no imprints on this one.

This time around we will keep it smooth, clean and hard.


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