He Says He’s Been Drinking Since 6


Failed production values
and a horrifying wreckage of flesh
sift through an endless harangue,
discarding all traces of smoke
                         and past reminders
            if ever there were.
Somebody wants to feel special,
and the other is just along for kicks.
There’s a cigarette that picks apart
                               the foundations, and folds
                the implications of being slowly
within the tattered floorboards, somewhere
                                 you wouldn’t be inclined to dig.
We’ve failed to sequester
                   the frenzy that sent him
spinning round in a chair through her
                                unnecessary advances.
           Caged in a sheltering of hair.
                 Fleeing to darker climes.

-r. miller


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