The Bookshelf Says the Heart is a Lonely Hunter

The Bookshelf Says the Heart is a Lonely Hunter

Poetry

Daniel Galvin

I tell the bookshelf:

 

The heart’s a lot of things
don’t mind the heart

 

If you had your way
I’d be poking around in my ribs
picking away at my own heart—
I’d rather not

 

For all I know
the thing could be reaching some sort of crisis
swelling to splatter-point

 

Making me phone my father in tears
or cannibalise my girlfriend
head to toe at the cinema

 

Most probably, it’s a small shed
with a dim light and a wet carboard box
containing my first ride’s arse

 

I’ll leave it alone
crooked and bewildered
bumbling away on.

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