If You Stare Long Enough, Everything Looks like a Heart by Ryan Dilbert
You can train your eyes
to see the man ironing his striped shirt
not the bush-meat hanging behind him.
You can see foliage
not what lurks in it.
Butcher an animal in the shallows
and say the red is a symbol of love.
You can cover a ghost with a rug
and lie down,
force the direction of your dreams
You can talk over the sound of insects devouring themselves.
Rename loss strength.
You can find a place for a hurried kiss
In this empire of gluttony,
choose to daydream of dancers, not landmines.
You can call the foot
protruding out of the slab of ice
your cataracts, angels.
Ryan Dilbert is the author of Time Crumbling Like a Wet Cracker (No Record Press 2011). His writing has appeared in Paperwall, SmokeLong Quarterly, Word Riot, Denver Syntax and McSweeney’s Internet Tendency. He writes about pro wrestling for Bleacher Report and lives in Houston, Texas with his wife, daughter and dog.