Images strain to make
themselves seen.
From the world’s jellied spleen,
a doubt erupts
and abruptly engages
your fatigued hindsight.
It was never alright,
the night and its
configurations of stars.
Now, you’ve gone
too far into the wilds,
miles of uncut brush
between you
and what you thought
was a destination.
-r. miller
*Insert Propaganda Here* 