Handicap 4, 5, 6, and 7

A few more poems from the Handicap series I've been writing at work. I'll fix that video link, too.

Handicap #4: Heart

If my heart fell out like an overripe pear,
or disintegrated or slipped out the backdoor in my ribs
to see new scenery, stop flexing the same old cage
then I could finally have room for my lungs
to swell with breath large enough
to dive to the bottom of Rue Lake
where sank that book I was reading
the one without a cover and no recallable name
about a blind boy coming to love an exiled princess
under a big green star in the sky.


Handicap #5: Sense

If I lose my sense of wonder,
I could replace it with my sense of shame.
Though I would always feel guilty
if I caught a sideways glance at a sunset
or be blushing to think of a rainstorm
with a kiss between thunder.
And if I left my sense of shame
on a bus seat while I read Picnic, Lightning,
my sense of duty might fall in
making me want to protect all rainbows
and bury every broken bird.


Handicap#6: Soul

If I lost my soul,
for the most part I’d be bummed
except if I was in some Ghost scenario.
Because two souls in one body trying to dance
would suck especially if one was Whoopi.

Handicap #7: You

If I lose you,
I won’t replace you.
I’ll adjust.
Like a three legged dog,
a loosed planet,
a bird gone nest,
a broken buddy comedy,
the morning bed,
a blank clock,
a mailbox off the route.