If you take all the pieces
of living, my desires and needs
for softness
in and around and upon
the body, for the pressure to live
outside the skin
as if the penis were an ornament
instead of an instrument
of love in the flesh,
if you take my living
in matter and mind, my name and my hands,
my mouth, my lips and my tongue
of passion, if you take
my poems and crumple them,
my books and burn them
to ash and return
their ashes to the wind,
if you take my heart and beat it
with a stick, jab it with electrodes
full of amps and volts,
kick it, whip it or ignore it, mistake or take it
for anything or nothing
other than me, I still add up
infinite.
.
Richard Rensberry, author at QuickTurtle Books®
Poet's Corner 