His Stop-Motion Heart

With a fist, he pounds it down
Flat as a pancake first,
Then palming around—

He squished and squashed until it burst.

The cold breath it burped,
Jumped down his choking throat—
His head was usurped—

He sprouted sails and grew a boat.

On a sea of silt,
A sauce good for the goose—
His heart was rebuilt—

He quacked a bill and flew up loose.

With a twist, he was brought down
By a flapping pancake
Then flipping around—

He buttered up and ate his heartache.

 

 

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