Crack it open like an oyster. Let it ooze out
the way it should, scoop it up, then shuffle it
in a deck of cards too stiff to handle.
Make it call you by your name, learn the
features of your face as well as any friend.
Offer promises you might never keep. Become its
blood brother, a cut along its edge touched to your
small cut, sealed together, pressed with need.
Bend it backward then forward, then shoot it like a
rubber band--a green one from the grocery.
Let it sing off key, tell a white lie, say that it has
real talent. Don't wait around for it to skip a beat,
take it down fast and hard, bury it in days of wonder,
nights of fever. Feed it fruit and chocolate and slow
sips of tea until it knows not the order of its day,
its rhythm shot straight to hell, its left from right
gone terribly wrong. Do all of this to your own heart