the heart is the devil
i pray to, its changes
in weather the butter
i spread on my toast
it loves a standing
ovation, a rainfall
of roses no less
with disregard it calls
a factory strike—
my likeness goes on
wanted signs
throughout town
in the end
there’ll be
no place to hide
from myself
[LAG-other-response url=”https://www.vianegativa.us/2016/05/diarist-2/” title=”Via Negativa: Diarist”]