Somewhere between my head and my heart
dwells the empty space of inches or miles.
Think it through, feel the chill.
Clinking ice to crystal, the tinny voice rings in my head and cautions:
Be practical.
I’ll take that drink now.
Glacier speed numbs the brain. Soothing the inward chafe.
Pay no mind to the height and width and depth of
that uncontrollable thing. Volcano belly.
Lava flow.
The slow drape rolling red on skin and by god you don’t
forget the burn. It’s a feeling, after all.
What is it I’m trying to say to you, dear?
I am not trustworthy to choose.
Bookends of space, there are only two.
If I use my head, O’ bloodless logic!
The heart?
I’ll be a fool for sure.


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