Lock Box

If you would be so
kind
as to carve my heart
that beating roobios
muscle
out of this 28-yeared
chest
and bury it away
behind copper and
steal
key lost in the bottle
no one will read
merlot
to some Tom Hanks
wannabe
washed up in the Isle
of shrunken heads
and yes they eat the
dead
in Papa's New Guinea
I'd greatly and dare I say
unabashedly appreciate it.

Because I've no use of the
sound
it makes
when I'm trying to sleep
no use of the
push
it has
when I'm trying to breath
no use of the ache it
feels
when I'm trying to see
the reality
of who we
1-2-3
human I'll race you
to another man's
misery
pretend to be.

It's better left to
cannibals and
movie stars.