One beat at a time and that’s how I saw it.
If it moved me, I’d pay it tribute
with a rusty beat;
a trumpet blast of calcium and iron metal,
in body-wide approval.
This is counter-cultural I understand.
But I prefer not to be reckless with my heartbeats,
we’re allotted only so many, you see.
By this method I plan to live 145 years, pain free.
Enter you, and your hand slips slowly into my shirt
Lays to rest on my sterile chest.
Against my will, the regulated valve
at first like a ticking clock
then a metronome set on adagio, then
Presto. And then
Like a jackhammer
STOP STOP STOP STOP Deep Breath, Just please. STOP
Frittering beats, You
You’ve taken my control.
This heart of mine beats in time
to the perfect rhythms, the swells
and swoons of the passing wave,
the steady knockings of pattern.
This heart of mine delights as it toes the line
between what is good and what is right;
always on one side, the same side, still,
the line is fine.
Still, still, still is this line
that dies right when I open my eyes;
dies before the faint outline reveals
a whole new rhyme.
Jazz and syncopated, no rhyme or reason.
A flurry that is violate of both form
I close my eyes to this bustle-bustle,
this heart of mine, unable to pine, reluctant to shine.
Once a beat, steady as it was, but now, not so.
Silence now. Stillness now.
This heart of mine, taken by the murderous rage of queen quiet. The inane, mundane.
This heart unfree, hollow at the mere age of twenty-three.
Bring out the paddles and revive this heart of mine.
Better to be malignant than benign.
If death and stoppage were to visit, better that
my heart goes out in a beat divine,
than to lie down and wait
for the quiet ripples to form in slow time
to take and conform
to swallow and dine
with this lazy, withered heart of mine.
Quantity over quality, Jessica J.