Trip Journal

Standard

Cemetery engraved mouths of leaves
folding lightly as a spring rain
covering sidewalks transcendent
in noon time ragged paranormal and snared,
so I snare, so I stare,
stairwell of Christ in a tower of sorrow,
tomorrow will be just the same,
and with supermarket radiance cutting
across constellations, collective
of social castaways caught
in a media blitz bearing the
camera eye in cataclysm.

-r. miller

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