The Outpouring of Hearts

by Tammy T. Stone

I’m writing with a borrowed pen on
Brown paper towels from the bathroom.
A zombie or a sound poet? she asks and
Laughs. Her throaty voice from being sick.
I dream of coarser paper from gas
Station toilets. Of the movie Gaz Bar Blues.
Waiting and feeling good is all I need.
In due time means nothing but waiting in full,
Of fullness and with the future inside of it, the
Outpouring of hearts. This is the now that lives.
Major heart troubles, I imagine telling
The old Canadian actor down the street,
The bohemian barefoot one, after I nod hello
And he invites me in to get
High and get at all the meanings.
Better than brain trouble, I suppose.
No more writing myself out Love
Beloved.
I love her, next to me, old, Asian, taking a massive
Last drag of her cigarette. Her lungs
First filled with smoke in another country
Under the sun.