My heart is a grease trap

so it seems
a passing by storms
(turnabout)
to cast our minds in clay
next day
surmount molecular fiefdom
my life a puck of kief
and other nefarious
I turn to sleet
eye in the I
left/discussions
of privacy led nowhere
but back into themselves
and we ran the race
but won
it’s like a fraction
or a psalm
it’s like a mummy
chasing ribbons
of pure faultless
(symmetrical)
galvanized woe

-r. miller

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