Haven’t We Been Here Before?

The white walls growing whiter
as night flares up in a tousled
tango seem to go in every direction
at once. The dunce of evening
lowers his cap and taps the sky,
quietly shuffling into memory.
These walls are stammering.
We go on, hammering stakes
into the ground to mark our territory,
and the territory which we’re marking
is a stark, darkening square
of tittering air. Nothing fares well
in these parts, even young upstarts
such as we. We whose seas ravage
every shore they reach, beaches
pounded into glass. The impasse
must be cleared, the petty fears
that creep through the floorboards
of the years, and as you sleep, slip
dreary thorns through both of your ears.
Tears of enmity intensify as the sky
pushes farther into nothingness.
Our precepts wrestle
in the wilderness.

-r. miller

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