My heart

Park a truck,
or a tractor,
or a fleet of cars of in it.
For its so empty,
oh, its so cursedly vacant,
every inch, its every bit.

Grow a crop of grain,
or a line of banana trees.
For its like an unploughed field.
I so need to,
do something with it.

Maybe make a house,
and rent it out,
or maybe lease it,
for the city dump.

Ahhhh, what the hell,
do I do with my empty heart??
With my hurtingly vacant heart,
for I cant find,
someone to love,
someone to make a home,
to fill it up, its every bit,
someone to live in it.