My heart's gone walking
In a tattered old coat and oily hair
Spitting and sputtering
Through thin lips and teeth of rot
He sits circumspect
In opposition to the order
To the rhythmic forgetfulness
of those around him.

Heart lays back-
Head on a wad of newspapers
Closes his tired old eyes
And stops beating.

You
Hands on hip
Blow a strand of hair from your face
Scoop him up lovingly
And bring him back home.