One Drink

Standard

Convene the corners, splendid shower
of the lightly humming, spurned nexus.
He opened his mouth in a swarm
                          and a tirade of poles
hurried forth to hasten his faculties.
Prominence of attention.
No, he’s really that feeble,
and if you play your cards right,
he’ll weigh out his grain, hold it close
to a distilled sprain in the spine.
His trenches are weathered
                           and creep delicate
to the frame, line by line,
charting his deceitful knot.
Vocals are forbidden, of course,
in the desert, no indication of sleep.
One drink and it’s over.
                      One drink and it’s over.

-r. miller

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s