my heart was once an open wound on my sleeve,
dripping on the ground as i walked,
spattering my shoes.
look here, i’ll open it up a little wider and we can take a peek inside—
see? presto-shamzo, there’s nothing to see, this empty
receptacle that maybe once contained all my
blood and all it stood for.
now it’s a space to let, unfurnished,
and i feel the need for a clean shirt and a shoeshine.
(Copyright 2023 by Tetman Callis.)