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<\/p>\n<\/p>\n
Whose heart makes noises
\nlike the creaking of bending frozen milk?
\nWe ignore the entrails, shut out like a dog in the yard,
\nuntil, lying in darkness,
\nthe mind lands on a thought that\u2019s not there –
\nlike climbing stairs in the dark and finding oneself
\nunexpectedly at the top.
\nInside, the organs, all boiling squirting chemicals
\nand twitching spasms, come panting and wagging
\nlike the dog so sadly ignored,
\nleft to bounce off himself until he goes crazy.
\nHave we come so far from the womb
\nthat the language of the entrails sounds as foreign
\nas the vast hellish gurgling where the earth\u2019s crust is thin?
\nI will lay my head upon your guts
\nafter you\u2019ve had a good meal.
\nI\u2019ll watch the protozoans floating in my eyeballs.
\nI\u2019ll listen to the original mammal language
\nas I would listen to the ocean in a shell.<\/p>\n
written 1986<\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Whose heart makes noises like the creaking of bending frozen milk? We ignore the entrails, shut out like a dog in the yard, until, lying in darkness, the mind lands on a thought that\u2019s not there – like climbing stairs in the dark and finding oneself unexpectedly at the top. Inside, the organs, all boiling… <\/p>\n