it’s free

the human heart goes for one million dollars, yet i cannot give mine away

intrinsic value compared to sense of worth i suppose

but still i stand on the street playing the violin for loose change

fingers dancing on the strings, eyes closed and visions of you play on in my head

spinning signs on the corner, trying to attract eyes for my newest failed venture

the manuscript i sent today to the publisher, another loose collection of inane thoughts to be ignored

what i would give to not fail again

in life, in love, incomprehensible pain

drawing vistas in chalk in the center of the highway

and stick figure couples in the dirt on van doors

little doodles lacking substance

the human heart goes for one million dollars legally, ten times that on the black market

so take mine, it’s yours

sell it for whatever you can get out of it and run away

7 thoughts on “it’s free

      1. Giving your heart away. I don’t believe you do or will. I think you keep it carefully blocked and covered up with layers of doubt and self-loathing. And I’m not questioning your reasons, just that you to strike me as one who actually gives your heart away. Separating the poetry from the author, I get it. But as a unit, I disagree. That’s my opinion.

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      2. If only. I see what you mean. But the part of me that isn’t the tragic writer is the lovesick fool the writer mocks and tried to deaden. As of now my heart is in a plain brown paper box at the post office awaiting delivery

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