Wild Heart

my heart is wheezing in my chest,
behind its cage of fragile bones
locked with padlocks rusted shut

and maybe someone holds the key but
for now I pour my heartache into the
dusty shelves of libraries seldom
visited, an Alexandria preserved for
the ages

I can feel the words pumping through
my veins in blood that is two parts
rust and one part stardust, and it
occurs to me that lately I have been
more ghost than human being

my heart is roaring in my chest,
restless in its prison of rusted bones
clawing its way out with the mouth
of a beast and the hands of a lover

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