...a heart...just like bowlers are hats,
And the nose a hefty gate
For neat and dusty air.

...a drum...blood-drunk tom-tom
Banging away through the drowsy night,
Yet first to jump out of bed.

...a mixer of sweet melodies
In the silent studio of the mind.
Of sour melodies too,
Dark, rumbling messages
That travel the nightmarish train
To the first pulse of morning.

...a ship...both ship and compass of my life
through the hazy vista of my dreams,
to a landing on clay sand.

...a wing...I'm the airborne captive
In a flight across a jungle of hearts,
To be lost or to be found?