Confession

Standard

It was a moment of weakness, I insist.
The wind’s persistent sting,
the ringing in my ears.
Would I steer you wrong?

The wind’s persistent song
is bringing you to tears.
It was a moment of weakness, I insist.
A closed fist is the only

rational coping mechanism.
Who needs piety anymore?
A closed door, or an open vein,
but never a coping mechanism.

I insist, I must insist on a closed fist
or a persistent song.
Would I steer you wrong?
I’ve long since had a ringing in my ear

as strong as a closed door.
It’s more complex than that.
Light differentiated from light
based purely on might.

In my hand, the blight,
the wind’s persistent sting,
and a string of loosely connected ideas.
A closed fist or a coping mechanism –

-r. miller

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