He Used to Be Cool

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A whole lot of rocks and boredom.
Once the shock wore off,
he sold his belongings
and dove headfirst into anonymity.
Roving chemical trails
assail the treeline, and mist
prevails over all.
A cruel twist of the screws.
His view of the heights
is killed by kindness,
the kindness of aneurysms
and other forms of interior bleeding,
so he walks for six days
and finds himself in a novel
he began when he was younger,
but lacked the patience to finish.
He still has no patience.
But he’s more defeatist
in his conduct now. More
conducive to threats, jetstreams,
the schemes of a world
asleep with itself.

-r. miller

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