I want my sadness to dissipate
perfectly, like in a haiku,
hot rain on summer pavement,
but lately it’s more like atomic breath,
a mutagen lizard whose tail will not stop
regrowing, it has sixteen heads
all terminal with cancer.
So I take up hobbies, investing,
sabotaging US presidencies,
a stock market of shed skin:
doctors recommend losing
enough of yourself
to create an evil twin
on which to pin your crimes.
Now I’m learned in the supply and demand
of pedestrian hurts, and the sale
of my heart goes unregulated,
my downfall is a backroom deal,
my grievances vanish in the black night
of supermarket saving secrets.
📉 Nathaniel Duggan is a writer from Maine. His work has appeared previously in Hobart, X-R-A-Y Literary Magazine, and Gay Death Trance, among others. He can be found on twitter @asdkfjasdlfjd.