How to Have a Heartbeat I am so far apart from my body, So deep within my own self, That I can no longer touch my own skin; That the six feet of DNA in each of my cells Has uncoiled from around their hardworking histones And been unzipped And deconstructed. My body is one single overlapping line, One continuous directional path To blue eyes and strong legs and a strange mind. And as the methodically wound yarn unravels and flattens itself into obscurity, My life falls away from me Like zooming out from a satellite image, Until houses and streets become another innocuous shade of green. The immaculate system of life unwinds from within me Until my heart forgets how to have a heartbeat, And my blood forgets how to be blood, And my tongue forgets how to taste, And it is all somehow both utterly obsolete and still completely, fantastically, Universal. Unravel Unravel is the most beautiful word. The most beautiful part of being; The final state of coming...