Somebody Said They Wanted a Poem About a Fist Fight


There I am in the brink again,
and the vague personification
of writer’s cramp clamping
its jaws on my urges.

It sure takes a lot of nerve
to maintain that kind of conflict.
Even more nerve to expect a victory.
But hey, I have my illusions too,

and so far, they’ve kept me
estranged from my failures.
Am I wrong for craving syncopation?
And, as if on cue, disparity ensues.

At least leave me to my quips!
I’m owed that much at least –
fleeced as I am and filled
to the gills with the wines of “paradise”

-r. miller


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