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The Heart Is a False God.

[phrase omitted]

 How can I know
whether my heart
is still there today?
Why not
dig it out
and use a pair of scissors
to cut off its excess parts?
Bake it slowly.
Fashion it into
a glazed lamp.
Watch it reach its perfection
in the flames.
Hear it crack.
How can I know
the one pumping and beating
is my heart?
How can I know
what will flow
out of the heart
that explodes with a bang?
How can I know
the crazy motions of the hands at this moment
are just for
holding the heart?
How can I know
I won't be ashamed, panicked, collapsing
and vanishing into air
when I see my heart?
Who puts it in my body,
who makes it grow beard,
who makes it smile now
like a false god?
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Author:Shen Haobo
Publication:The Carolina Quarterly
Article Type:Poem
Date:Mar 22, 2019
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