The heart breaks in small chunks like pieces of bric-a-brac,
making me suffer right up to the bitter end, the heat inside worse,
longer-lingering than a weather forecast, a constant temperature I can’t
regulate, always worse when I sleep, dreaming churns it all up again, untouched
by the window air conditioner set on high, even as I turn it up, hoping to turn
out the excruciating dreams, I half expect my eyes to pop, or to frost over
like a car windshield with every additional degree of heat, uneven on the
inside and out, I rely on some imaginary defrost to keep my vision clear, the
heat inside neve waitering, fueled by thought I have but have no right to
think, of what I wish for and cannot have, stiff when I first rise, taking the whole
damned day to subside
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