Walking Home From Meadowview Station


I ain’t got enough fight
to fend off the swarms
of sweat beads tangling on my forehead.
I’ll be fine once I stop swearing.
Just trust me, I’ll be fine.
Between the hemispheres,
there’s an ever diminishing line…
No place like home, eh?
Well, what is home anyway?
A four letter word
that never served me all that well.
I’ve swerved through my share
of hell in uncomfortable kicks,
sick with shattered apogees
annexed to time.
Clever rhymes provide
a meaning to the last few
dreadful steps that lead
to the destination.
Consternation and jump starts
drift their way to the heart of it all.
Apart from that,
it’s all sunshine and mucous,
and I find myself squarely fixed
upon the structure of doubt,
without which no other structure
would have the fortitude to stand.
And therein exists
my understanding of the issue,
the issue of doubt.
Tenuous, but still understanding
as we understand the term.
Whatever else feels itself fit
to worm its way into my bones
is welcome to do so.
I still have the moans
of the empty street
to carry me home.

-r. miller


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