Unfinished and Unpromising, Dare I Hope?

Rot. Left to rot, on a bed, in a red brick house
On Lefferts Place where the pigeons fly and dive
And crap. And I got up and saw my heart
Lying in the corner of the room amidst the bird poop,
Moist, with a faint musty smell as of mushrooms stored
A bit too long in the cellar

And lifting my heart from the filth,
I brushed off several multicolored crumbs
Of fruity pebbles and washed it under the fountain
That flowed out from my eyes, and saw

Then picked up my right foot and
Squished it firmly upon my heart, listened
To the splat and pop of the red oozy mush
Spilling out between my toes.