i filet my heart into two neat pieces.
i poke it softly with my finger
as oil sizzles in the pan.
i’m not wearing gloves.
i gently move my organ
over the bubbling, gurgling steel.
‘i never did get non-stick,’ i think,
and i plop it in.
it pinches the air and
rips through my apartment.
if i were still alive,
id be nervous the neighbors would talk.