In pieces, the heart comprises only a pale sketch. I have been stitching. I have found the room in the heart where no wind stands. I have looked at the mirror in that room and I have wept at the blank peace in my own eyes. Your mistake is in trusting I hate you. In truth, I just don’t have the time. You are small and your heart is a bleak scab. I am small but my heart is a train. Feel its black engine barreling through you, bearing love to a god who will grind your face to dust and grow sweet flowers from your skull.
I wear a ruff of mourner’s hair. Too bad I wall myself away (for my own good). I believe in God, but the wound stings. I see myself from four corners at once. My dreams all take place in the same house.
The dream self knows the waking self is dead or the other way around. If only everyone felt how my flesh crawls. I hang a painting of a hunted duck. I sit beneath it, getting ready, digging the mud from my nails, giving a fuck.
Greg Allendorf was born in Cincinnati, Ohio. He is the author of the chapbook Fair Day in an Ancient Town, selected by Kiki Petrosino for Brain Mill Press’s Mineral Point Chapbook series. His poems have appeared in or are forthcoming from such journals as Smartish Pace, Subtropics, Baltimore Review, Beloit Poetry Journal, The Journal, Chicago Quarterly Review, The Hawaii Review, and Memorious: A Journal of New Verse and Fiction. He holds graduate degrees from University of Cincinnati and Purdue University. He lives in Columbia, Missouri, where he is a PhD candidate and Creative Writing Fellow at University of Missouri.