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My heart is a vacant lot
Pocketed full of spare change
That jingles with the rhythm of the coming wind

My heart is a glass sculpture
Blown proudly and delicately

It falls to the ground
With great smashing tunes
That pierce the ears of children

My heart crashes to the floor
And beats aloud
Dead on the floor
Without the warmth it needs

I'm broken and dead
Like structures under burroughs' apple
And I stand in lennon's rye

I'm among where the flowers have gone
And my heart goes on until the last parade has past

My heart wraps around thorn bushes
And punctures itself
With the poetry and art I create
For others to see
And attempt to understand

I go on living
And feeling
But as the students observed
His chambers were hollow
For he never knew it

My heart is the autumn smell
Of falling red and brown leaves
To the floor they hold and blanket

The smell of wet rain
And damp leaves
They cover the pavement and land

The earthworms dig in
And underneath
But deep below the surface
Who knew
About the well of cossed toins
And possible prison cells?

You can yell sweet thoughts
And hear them echo in my heart
They haunt me at night
Like a reflection pool

My heart is an on going event
It changes daily
Influences from weather
People and places

My heart is the shaded tree
In the great amazon
That doesnt get light and grow
But protects the soil and helps the crawlers

My heart beats now
Even when I question why it does

My heart pounds every second
To keep me going
And take care of all the others

My heart is not broken
For every morning
I re-assemble its pieces
And attack the world again

 1998 David Greg Harth