Amor Fati


I’m rubbing against the flaccid air
hoping to coax some life
back into it before one o’clock
happens all over again.
I’m not thrilled with losing
everything I’ve gained this hour,
peculiar hour of plastic fumes
and unwashed floors.
It’s enough to pour one’s heart
into nothing if one does so
with the conviction of a saint.
The page turns, revealing a taint
on the following page, which means
the whole fucking book is tainted.
My hands and eyes are painted
the color of I’m so over this.

-r. miller


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