The Spark

Slicing the lust fires,
breath over pavements,
the wires singing you
to broken sleep

All along the minutes,
the slice slice slice
and murmurs of fanatics.
Automatic drooping sun

to the west and the rest
returning to stone.
Alone and diminished.
When I’d finished the report,

a retort quickly smothered my lips.
The way it slips… Focusing.
Drips of red deaden
the nervous twitch.

All I need is this picture
thoughtfully stitched
to the frame, a name
etched in glass.

A passing trance.
How artful is your dance
across the solid crowd.
Loud and rushing, fullness

spills itself in candied array.
I want to remember you this way.
I want the day to break
its bottle over me,

clover fields in cinders.
An order rescinded.

-r. miller

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