So concludes these triste
wanderings through summer
nostalgia. The way home
is paved in live coals.
I haven’t only to consider
the holes in the narrative.
It’s imperative that I bear
in mind the spaces between.
If you know what I mean.
I ought to glean whatever
tragic aspects I can from these
auspicious fragments,
augment their significance
to form more enticing lines.
There’s no apparent design,
but the personality
ultimately establishes
its own form of order.
-r. miller
*Insert Propaganda Here* 