I see a Hole in your chest
Beneath your breast
A void,
An empty abyss
So cold,
So old,
So nothing
Begging to be filled
Asking fot nothing in particular
Just something
Any substantce
Any device at hand
That knife,
That clay,
That speck of ash
That instant cement
As long as it's something that fits
Into that empty hole
That substrative chasm
In your chest
Beneath your breast
Anything close at hand
That garbage man
With all those broken unmentionables
Bound with plenty of dysfunctional toys
Broken dreams,
Broken hearts,
And dumber-dolls
him,
Holding that cracked hour glass
That leaking snow globe
That music box that fails to work
Junk he's collected in his years
Junk he will permeate into that empty hole
In your chest
Beneath your breast
As long as it fits.
He is your knight in broken/rusted armor
The one that will satisfy your desire
To be filled with nothing,
Nothing inparticular.

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