My Heart

A myocardial infarction hits,
Explosive as a Sunday bowl of beans,
Or fourteen parked cars full of horny teens.
A missile strike has blown my heart to bits.
Now ecstasy, from where this pilgrim sits,
Has fled, and nobody knows what that means.
In fits and starts, I tried making some scenes,
But even though I started, nothing fits.

I don't care for those medical flash terms.
They like to use a word like "cardiac"
Because it's too plain to say "heart attack";
We'll all take that last meeting with the worms,
Together, or alone like pachyderms.
Like Orpheus, I can't help looking back.