Analysis of The Donation

There stood,  my friend in the pleasant park.
his begging torment had made my soul anorectic,
I had long since emptied my moth balled pockets,
I had lost the essence for sharing.  For charity.

Yet I followed him into a granite mausoleum
where I stretched my overspent resources,
on this table, would be the very, last,
charity, that I could never truly afford.

He placed into my hand, gently, a rib spreader
I broke through.  The sternum, with care,
in peace, I rendered  apart, my rib cage,
I reached and, razored arteries, veins.

He lifted out with respect the heart, magelike
he set it upon his mantle, where he studies,
the pumping action, the ventricles, auricles
waiting for them to speak.  Such Inspiration...