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Click hereOne raw chicken breast
is your chilled heart in my hand.
I imagine its juice will poison my skin
with bacterial outrage for lack of heat.
Its slickness is determined
to make its way on to the floor, out of the door,
like a goldfish thought dead
save one last jump.
Your comparison of a raw chicken breast to a ruthless heart is clever. Thanks for the read!
This poem has been selected for listing in Wednesday's New Poems Review.<br>
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that just won't die. Very visual and kind of creepy. Did you know you can freeze goldfish and they revive just fine when thawed out? One of the professors in school popped them into ice cube trays--some kind of learning experiment.
Very vivid poem.