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Meat Heart (a poem)

I avoid my coworkers customers neighbors phone calls because today my heart feels tender like raw meat and everyone has the manic dark look to me like buzzards hungry for a bite. I want to hide my meat heart deep in the freezer till I forget how raw and red it is and everyone behaves like proper vegetarians. Then maybe years later when searching for the frozen peas, my hands will hit something hard and almost black. They'll pull out this strange frostbitten moonstone and toss it hand to hand until it drips red onto the kitchen floor. The cat will lick the muddy splatters at my feet and think me odd though they taste sweet and I will stand transfixed as if watching my own birth and lump of coal will thaw to shining muscle once again.

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