snip the stitch

Pull through the suture,

scissors snip the stitch

and out slides the thread;

the knot unravels—the heart

is dead. Septic sewage of Cupid

who beguiled Love with the killer bow?

Arrow piercing heart:

artifice burst, gushing

babygirl red, velvet spool

cascading from chest cavity

filled with rotten fruit

labored—breath and sigh

from a molding mind.

Pull through the suture,

douse the wound in alcohol

again, Saturday at 2am;

pour the wine, babygirl.

This antiseptic stomach strategy

of a liver-processed comedy

unforeseen, detoxifying romcom dream;

Just blow the kiss, babygirl

bat a lash—hit a home run,

kick up the sand and don't look back.

Slide through visionless

touch of time, touch of a man who isn't

him, swirling at the bottom

of a glass stained with 2am.

Snip the stitch, Love,

the suture drips blood

of poisoned organ—oxygen

exposed to flesh; the flies will come,

it will be a feast

of the body undone.

(The original version of this poem is now published in The Foundationalist: https://issuu.com/thefoundationalist/docs/the_foundationalist_volume_v__issue_i )