Still Got It


The theory which supports
this broken maison lays
on uncertainty.
Certainly, it’s the cataract
that is most unnerving,
as we swerve through plastic
postcard imagery
and our savagery raises
its fatal head. They said
that we’d be dead by sundown,
but we’ve taken this town
and shaken it to spindly bits,
and listen to how alive we are!
Glistening riddles puddle
on the cracked mirror
of rectitude.
Our confrontational attitude
will be validated by virtue
of our strangeness,
an arrangement which expands
outward and keeps expanding
until it spans the distance
from Winter to Summer,
and our slumbering fortitude
is roused by the clamor
of this drunken day.

-r. miller


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