Tossed

This paper,
crumpled into a ball,
traveled
at a velocity
equal to that of
a featherless robin,
or plastic arrow
flying across the room.

A high degree
of spin
allowed the curvature
in mid-air, like a lopped
breast plotted roughly
on a graph. It rolled once
in the wastebasket,
then stopped.

This is her heart
in the intern's hands,
the veins
spidery handwriting,
the gap in her chest
a fumbling red:
he calculates
the time of demise.