benign
say the physicians
it means nothing
when your heart
shakes a fist
in your chest
it means nothing
when your heart lets the rope
slip
and rappels sleep
far down the cliff
of consciousness
leaving you solitary
at the edge
with only the streetlight
filtering mindlessly orange
through gauze curtains
it is benign
when your heart offers you
death's cock-crow
as a familiar
waking after waking
so terror will be worn to a wispy rag
of morning twilight
by the time you arrive
at the fleeing edge of shadow
before that unquestionable dawn
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