By Mike O’Connell

i’ve torn my heart up
a hundred(?)times,
but have always kept the
pieces, never reassembling
it, the same way, twice.
it looks askew, when i
contemplate it, now.
it’s got holes in it,
stuff hanging off,
leaks, and kind of
squeaks now, when it
tries to tell me what’s going on.
the thumping is comforting,
but distracting, like the
beat to a song, that
matches my mother’s
singing of long lost music,
as i lay sleeping in her arms.
my heart has survived
wallowing in self pity,
nearly drowning in seas of
confusion, and misdirection.
i hold it out now, like a hologram
of a planet, fascinating, explored
by multiple probes, but never
finding signs of life.
i have this heart, you see,
buried in expectations
and mystery, forever searching
for calm and completion.
(what if one heart is not enough?
what if one life, just won’t do?).