Savage heart that delights in the trees dancing as the wind blows purple tumble weeds and yellow leaves across the canvas of my night time vision, that stands in doorways as icy rain falls and falls, that sees snow in the dark air, that delights in a child noting that at night darkness makes the sky touch the ground.  Savage heart that cannot leave its bed, its nest of feathers and cotton, it cannot continue this deluge of humanness.  Savage heart still broken a decade after the fall, finding joy in the scars, running its antenna over tingling edges, tearing off the scabs and eating them as it bleeds. Like a mantis chewing on her husbands head as he fucks her still. Savage heart that beats too hard for all the lazy wastrel life.