I still want to believe well cure the human heart, heal it of its anxieties, and the mistrust and barbarousness they spawn, but hasn that metaphorical heart been slashed, dissected, cauterized and slashed again, and has the carnage relented, ever?
Night nearly, the exterminator’s gone, the park deserted, the swings and slides my grandsons play on forsaken. In the windows all around, the flicker of the television news: more politics of terror; war, threats of war, war without end. A half-chorus of grackles still ransacks the trash; in their intricate iridescence they seem eerily otherworldly, negative celestials, risen from some counter-realm to rescue us. But now, scattering towards the deepening shadows, they go, too.
Related Questions
- I still want to believe well cure the human heart, heal it of its anxieties, and the mistrust and barbarousness they spawn, but hasn that metaphorical heart been slashed, dissected, cauterized and slashed again, and has the carnage relented, ever?
- How much does the human heart weight?
- What is the weight of a human heart?
