twice measure the dress for wounds

so the heart full becomes a tired word,
knows each intersection the city
raw after vivisection,
a full life story, no new ink
the page as small
as a single man steering through
midnight, trouble
is the quantum mechanics of
greatness and house hold
gods sweeping up the corners of
an unfinished attic room
all messed up she said leaving
and dried the blood rag against
a blue forehead, ablation,then
camphor and rage a shark swimming
becomes one as
antiseptic as cartilage,
filled in the frozen land with longing
the heart greens to gold and darkness in to
a violence un-perfected, a blunt ax
braking down doors to a house not yet
on fire and so a crime and not a hero at
all but an address flowered with poppies
- madness, and the flimsy dead