They say that home is where the heart is...
I look about my body.
I have gained weight beyond what is healthy.
My arms and legs are yet powerful, I suppose.
I command the pulses which ripple my forearms
So that I might observe the ridges
Remaining from long passed work.
While chiseled, the ridges lack their former hardness.
They are but subterfuges of a form which has lost its might.
My eyes yet work well for a man
Whose entire family wears glasses.
My back, while shattered, yet supports my guise,
As do my shredded knees.
My lungs... well, indolence has lessened breath...
But I should not complain about my flesh.
My beard grows red and handsome.
Or so people say...
And my blood resists all poisons from without,
Whether drug, virus, or infection.
The chemicals of my crown are quick and lasting.
There is much about my form, in fact, which
Deserves great thanks.
To someone. To something.
But from the place which as a light
Shines at the core of my soul,
I sit remembering...
I see your face,
And I remember other forms,
And I see other places,
And other times,
All where my Mind
Rested tranquil strong beside you...
And yet my heart beats here...
Within this preface to carrion...
My heart beats here....
