Poem written in ’07, just as true today

The heart is a retard
on the short bus
with no helmet or pads,
whacking its skull on the glass
for sheer joy.

The heart is a retard
a pin cushion for bent arrows
halos of barbed wire
hair of flames
and blood-dipped cursive names.

The heart is a retard
now and forever
eating sunbeams and shitting rainbows
shedding glitter dandruff
off construction paper
monstrosities
taped to the fridge.

The heart is a retard
and there’s no special class or program to help,
there is nothing to do.
It’s simple like sand
that cuts like glass.

The heart is a retard and
this poem is drool
from its mouth,
grinning like fishhooks,
staring at butterflies with
diamonds for wings

retarded.