Viscera

Prose

And those bloody yellow and red shards, what’re they supposed to be? And, more importantly, what does it tell you about where I’m going?

I know you think I’ll believe you when you say: heart. But that’d be a stretch. You know, like how all of this can possibly fit inside that distended carcass; and then there’s the escaping colour. Why does it lose its hue when opened?

Never mind putting it all back together. Well, maybe you can do something, like point at the world with those magic stitches. Maybe. This could be a reckoning of sorts, pure and simple symbol. That something an eternity outside of you decided to give you the nod today. In your democratic hindsight, you have the blinders to not worry about the oligarchy that steps right from strep throat to stretched throat and paused to unburden just a smidgen of pain. Well…

We all know how well that goes.

This corpus just doesn’t fit well with the anatomy on trial. Or, this is all the evidence from a different trial that has wormed its way in here on the backs of a few errant capillaries. But like that pinched off vein, I am sure the bulge will become evident.

In a few minutes, anyway.

J.D. Harms 2020