The Mean Beat

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The heart is big
and wet and terrible,
singular.
It thumps a mean beat;
it says yes
until it there is only no.
Its despotic race
from the leap with fear
to sleep's plodding pace
leaves little room for affection.
It’s primacy is consuming.
There needs to be two,
a fail-safe, a backup,
a promise
to leave me be.


April is National Poetry Month, so I’m publishing poetry for NaPoWriMo throughout the month.