Experiment

by Kerry Hammerton

I want to take a scalpel
to my heart, sever it
from the tubes and muscles and bone
that mould its shape.

I want to give it
to you to fathom
its depth, grasp the mechanism
that makes it beat faster.

After you have dissected
each chamber, you can keep it
in a glass jar, pour formaldehyde
over its dying pulse.

After all, I’ll have no use
for its bloody remains.

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