His heart keeps him awake while he's asleep. He listens to his heart while he falls asleep in bed. His artificial heart gives him insomnia. As long as I can hear the sound, I know I'm here. His heart keeps him alive while he's asleep. My heart helps me to sleep while I'm alive. Oh, patient, this Valentine is for you. I had no choice, I knew that I was dying. We are trying to survive. We are standing on the shoulders of the makers of the heart while we lie on our back in bed. They walk with their hearts on their sleeves and their noses to the grindstone. He listens to his heart while he falls asleep at night. Oh, Valentine, this contraption is for you, device of the sacred, the sacred heart. It feels heavy to me--it makes a constant whir which keeps me awake when I'm trying to get to sleep. It has no heartbeat, only this constant whir.
Long jetty, long shell-racked jetty, cracked warped planks. Beautiful fish, beautiful sea-bass poached with an August tomato, on an ironstone plate. A snake's slough, a snake's spinal cord, a dry-rot stump. A twill tape measure, an audiotape cassette unspooled and puckered, shining. Agate prayer beads, kazoos, whistles, rattles. A bike-chain and a bungy cord. A moebius strip and a broccoli elastic. Split vanilla pod inset with paltry-looking flat oily brown seeds. Egg-and-dart molding of vitreous fake sandstone. Contrails, mares' tails, mackerel sky.