There is a round still center in the human heart
it holds together all our minds' vague thoughts
like the earth's core fire
that holds the cold soil in
But when I twist my hands into a knot
and try to find the center of my heart
I only plunge into a darker dark
the core and center of my heart is smoke
it fades and swirls, falters but grows strong.
There's a Medusa in my soul's deep center
with gently undulating snakes of stone
The poets sound so sure there is a center
even the modern wasteland of new death
has a black core, foul-smelling ugly-mouthed.
I have no core, no center holds me in.
When I lie in bed at night
my body flies apart into the mist
I try to catch my wandering thoughts with distached hands
my feet sit mockingly beyond my reach
tell me, old poets, lying in dust and bone
where will I find a core to hold me closed?