The Nuisance of Heart

[baifan]

Version 2:

The Nuisance of Heart

Cut your losses, swallow your words, float around.
Those words are part of you now, tread carefully, take to the streets
And be scurried along in the flow, but don't let dead words
Spill from your face, lest you want to be mocked as
The rock in the river. Lest you want the last of your blood
To spill with your thoughts, you laid them out one after another
For anyone near to praise or leer; you said
How many?
She said
This many, take the rest back those are for you to keep forever,
And she took that many and smiled and said
I'll appreciate these.
            You knew she would, yet

Come the next rain, you’ll think hard about it all,
For when it falls, the cool splash against your face
Will keep you awake as you sift through your heart
And decide what's worth how many tears,
And you can divvy your lonely appropriately.
Rain falls when the sky slips—on these days
There is no need to look up, no one to be found,
But galaxies scattered in blots on the ground,
No shame to hide or cries to unsound,
All is falling, apart and admitted.

Go inside and triple check your pipes,
The leak in the house might be an internal issue.
Patch them before they become an infernal issue.
The rain is only there to emphasize
Broken infrastructure.

And the wind knocking furiously at your window
Might scowl and command: attend to your loss.
It might send you backwards, reeling through time,
To before you saw twilight choke the horizon,
When you were feeding those lovewords
So that they could breathe and walk and fly,
Sing honestly, and richly with life.
Before she said, "This will do. The rest is for you." And, of course,
You can't have all those live lovewords flapping around in your head;
They might wake the sleeping heart dormant in your chest,
And to interrupt its rest would be tantamount to death,
So what can you do but put those lovewords to death?
And take the executioner's blade to their thin fragile necks?
And apologize: "My bad, really, sorry—who's next?"
"You weren't meant to love after all." Yes,
            The wind says remember, remember their fall,

And remember the dreams from long ago,
As you stand where you had hoped they would land.
Mind your shadow, mind your shadow,
He’s the only one who knows.

And don't forget the quieter thoughts,
Two bodies wound up on a one-man cot,
Telephones, trains, letters and hands,
Pajamas and coffee and music stands,

Holding umbrellas and heart-to-heart talks,
Sunset dinners and sunrise walks.
Cherry words of weary song.
Words, words—gone before long.


Version 1:

The Nuisance of Heart

Cut your losses, swallow your words, float around.
Those words are part of you now, tread carefully, take to the streets
And be scurried along in the flow, but don't let another word
Spill from your face, lest you want to be mocked as
The rock in the river. Lest you want the last of your blood
To spill with your thoughts, you laid them out one after another
For anyone near to praise or to leer; you said
How many?
She said
This many, take the rest back those are for you to keep forever,
And she took that many and smiled and said
I'll appreciate these
And you knew she would but the dejection was there.

Come the next rain, you’ll think hard about it all,
For when it falls, the cool splash against your face
Will keep you awake as you sift through your heart
And decide what's worth how many tears,
And you can divvy your lonely appropriately.
Rain falls when the sky slips—on these days
There is no need to look up, no one to be found,
But a galactic beauty to be found on the ground.
No shame to hide or cries to unsound,
All is falling, apart and admitted.

Go inside and triple check your pipes,
The leak in the house might be an internal issue.
Patch them before they become an infernal issue.
The rain is only there to emphasize
Broken infrastructure.

And the wind slamming violently into your fragile glass window
Might draw your attention to your feelings of loss.
It might send you backwards, reeling through time,
To before you saw heartbreak on the horizon,
When you were feeding those lovewords
So that they could breathe and walk and fly and thrive
And sing honestly and richly with life and mean a lot.
Before she said, "This will do. The rest is for you." And, of course,
You can't have all those live lovewords flapping around in your head;
They might wake the sleeping heart dormant in your chest,
And to interrupt its rest would be tantamount to death,
So what can you do but put those lovewords to death?
And take the executioner's blade to their thin fragile necks?
And apologize: "My bad, really, sorry—who's next?"
"You weren't meant to love after all." Yes,
The wind might recall their violent, untimely fall.

And put it in pattern, in context, in stride,
And pack what's important in a small knapsack,
And take all your pain along for the ride,
And mind your shadow, tailing your back,
And keep a story or two, heavy they are,
And pictures, here and there, across age,
And run with fearful zest, fast and far,
And rest when you're certain you're far from the stage.

And don't forget the dreams long past,
As you stand where you had hoped they would land.
As time rolls on, and as life slips fast,
We scrabble around at whatever we can.

And don't forget the quieter thoughts,
Two bodies squeezed tight on a one-man cot,
Telephones, trains, letters and hands,
Pajamas and coffee and music stands,
Holding umbrellas and heart-to-heart talks,
Sunset dinners and sunrise walks.

Cherry words of merry song.
Heavy words of weary song.
Words, words—gone before long.