InvasiveThoughts.com

January 2008

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ArchiveTable of Contents

13 Anniversary Issue

14 Green Winter

15 Elections Perspectives

16 Books

17 From the Streets

18 Abuse

19 Abuse Part II

20 Audiophile

Letters from the Editors

Nicole's Letter for HEART

Brooke's Letter for HEART

Features

Corazon de Gallo

Live Music Reviews

All Because of a Hole: I

All Because of a Hole: II

All Because of a Hole:III

Subjective

Heart: journal entry

The Heart of a Trucker

Poetry and Art Corner

Love, XLV

Our Family's Heart

Homage to Esteban Jordan

Poetry of Jim Stewart

Beseme

Through My Heart

Pitty

The House of Love

Hole in My Heart

Poetry by Willie Garza

Scarred Woman by Bob Ross

Scarred Woman Prolog

Book 1

Book 2

Book 3

Book 4

Book 5

Book 6

Book 6.5

Book 7

Book 8

Book 9

Book 10

Book 11

Book 12

Book 13

Book 14

Book 15

Book 16

Book 17

Book 18

Book 19

Book 20

Book 21

Book 22

Book 23

Book 24

Epilog

Reader Comments

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Hole in My Heart

Nicole Moore


 

The doctors say

I have a hole in my heart

And maybe that is why

I feel the way I feel so hurt,

 

My chest tightens,

And this strange life-giving thing palpitates,

And every word that is said

Seems to echo

Within me,

 

And when I lose another,

The hole seems to open, even more,

Allowing the blood gushing

To move between the chambers

Like the tide changing,

Sweeping through the hole as through

Crevices in some deep-sea ocean rocks.

 

It is said, that perihelion is the point closest

To the sun during a planet’s orbit,

And aphelion the point farthest away,           

And in my heart these orbiting distances

Are what cause the beating

That keeps me spinning,

 

Because when I lie so very still

And am so certain

That I am hiding in safety

From ghastly memory’s demons,

My heart betrays me by calling out,

Female to male,

Like Tumbadora to Conga,

Beating forth and back one Conguero to another

Such horrific stories,

 

It is then, when my heart

Is violently beating and pulsing and shaking

Like the dancers of Black Orpheus

Through the streets of Rio de Janeiro,

That it wears its mask for the dead

And questions its living.


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