The Longest Heart Attack

This quiet smells of singed hair & gasoline
kept still in pails. My wheels scream
like rabbits & it’s only the noise. The places
I go have passed— your slick hair,

my burnt dog, a dead house. These bones
are gravestones & I’ve stopped playing.
The longest heart attack is this lake,
this small ocean of snow & my nose

drips a foreign liquor no one can drink.
I’ll show you this all if you bring
any hanky of heart, a bone-colored cotton—
the same as my worn skin. I lay my tangram

skeleton on the shore but the waves aren’t
human enough to wash away. Everyone watches
the heart attack but I am not dubbed; I am a lit
building spitting codes of alphabet to false-ears.