Cardiac

Once I made an ocean with my heart

to swim and fathom forth,

and pound my surf against the shores.

Then I made a fist with my heart

to beat my rib-caged bones

with bruising bare-knuckled hits.

Then I made a clinker with my heart,

burnt-out and crusted cold,

brittle and bitter in its ash-pan.

Now I make a flower with my heart

whose stem of light unfurls

to touch your precious petals.

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Monkeys: There are no monkeys here. If you're looking for monkeys, go away. Well, actually there are monkeys, but they're of the hairless variety that writes poetry and such. If that's not what you're looking for move along.