Horoscapes: Cancer

 

 

The kind of guy who advocates the militant swallowing of Mars. Science is not the music of emotion. Dismantling a live heart is nothing like the construction of an atom bomb. At the courthouse let your wife have half, refrain from spitting sparks. Allow the flamespeak to petrify in your lungs. You, who has always been good with your hands, with inanimate artifacts of war but never the real thing. When you touch the impression she left on the mattress feel the stalactites break off inside of you. Count the crunches inside your gut. Next time you craft the shell of a mine steal scraps to graft to your chest cavity, to make whole all those holes. Feel her tiptoeing under your skin, the occasional blast of a sharp shrapnel smile. Practice pinching gunpowder instead of cheeks for the daughter you’ll never meet. You signed her away with the divorce papers, when you signed away the war. Casualty of your own casual careless fingers—you never did learn how to hold a hand.