I have a weak heart, a heart
which thankfully comes
with an off-switch. Alone,
with my kitschy morality,
I bide my time, stuffing my tongue
with wads of tissue.
A government issue haiku
for my page of exhaustion,
fallacious rage misplaced
and steered clear
into the city’s center.
I come face to face
with my tormentor only to realize
we share the same face.
I waste him in a crash bang
of expletives. I make a mental note
of the encounter. Now,
a fountain shoots viscous streams
of petroleum into my withering eyes,
eyes stamped with half-
hearted goodbyes
and discredited truths.

-r. miller

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