State of the Heart

The lilies are dying
too quickly to be real
raindrops on my skin
are better than a pinch
to know that I feel
so I lie about sonnets
I’ve never written
and my print gets smaller
as the days pass
-a manifestation of the heart?
skip meals; make deals
study our lives
from real to reel
to see cause and effect,
though there is none
I write blank pages
to our Iron Guns
while they’re melting
from too much firing
into the soft hearts of men –
How did this all begin?
Did you knock on my door
and ask to come in
because there hasn’t been
a light on for some time,
not since the heart’s crime.
Visiting hours are always too short;
my mind never clear enough
to rummage through the now
so I don’t recognize the visitor
until she’s gone.