Feeling Alive for 1:15
Hard pounding harder as my heart leaps to see another burning moment in another bursting thought. My heart learns to burst on time and it becomes motionless when it has nothing to look to the stars for. It becomes buried in its blood and valve when nothing is there to kill it or save it. I lend my own hand to it and relieve its boredom. I empty all in front of the levy. I stand in 3 feet of water, sunken, motionless and timeless looking for a heart to hunt and an explosion to quell.
The mud and eel creep into the crotch of my pants as the grit becomes almost too much to bear as I move and twist in the hurricane made pond. As I turn and twist with my pulse growing harder. Turning. Twisting. Crying. Burning. All at the same time as I fruitlessly and frantically twist and turn to alleviate the threat to my self. I turn and shovel and move and twist. All the time my heart is looking out over the side of the levy for that burst. It's looking out from me. It's out from my autonomous motions. It's out and wanting to beat and run hard down the side of the levy to the point where the clay walk is cracking. It wants to jump into the other side and swim out to the eye where there are other hearts doing a backstroke, and you will find the occasionally beat.
I climb out over the wall. I shake the grease mud from my hair and legs. I wash the oil from my face. There is a rope inside my body that has been punched there by my heart. It has been pulling me towards the beating of another. It has wanted me to explode in front of her and lay there on the ground beating and martyred. To be put on a picture as though a chain, like Guadalupe and Mary. To be hung from her mirror and broken from my neck.
My heart pounds out the words "What do you want me to do?" It sounds them up through my throat and places them on the ears of something that will never respond. Beat on.
