poem about passion



The plaster of Desire has laid its weight
on the thin, papier mâchè layers of my heart
Its sticky mixture seeping through the pliable matter
with each beat,
And with every breath I take
solidifying its hold on the soft, shadowed tissues,
transforming this once freely beating muscle into a new shape
that now follows solely the rules set by its new captor
who molds the new form of my heart
to fit perfectly in his hand as he
Taps it, knocks it, drops it from a height,
Tosses it on the table to let it
tumble, tumble, tumble around
and fall to the ground and—
it still being whole—
examines the minor scratches and
dents here and there
and admires his work.


more by A. M. LAINE

photograph by Michelle Spencer


Image Curve’s Manifesto


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