Talking To My Heart   Cool, isn't it? says the technician smiling as if she had painted your image on the monitor. Who can account for her taste, dear heart? You are a tangled package bound with rivers of string, your tricuspid valve a slit in torn wrapping, your thump-thump a secret trying to escape from its chamber.   How shallow the breaths that fluttered against your rib cage. I thought you would collapse like a … [Read more...]