miracle heart transplant

there is no Noah-gene abounding of me

no spin of the wheel offering another lifespan allowance equal to what you’ve long since spent

in silence, find truth

there is no infinite number of star-filled skies

no take-backs or do-overs, despite my shouts of forgiveness and this miracle heart transplant

in truth, find silence

Sky Askew

Where is the what

or the Who that explains

the oft’ fruitlessness

of my overall mess and the how I say yes long before I have said I know why?

When my proclivity

to touch humanity’s

innate toxicity

brings my doom, what is it that lauds me and steals the sharpest wits gifted me?