Here in the wall I’m all conundrums
and butterfly wings a saint
making a pilgrimage
to the derelict center of self-interest
what’s interesting about any of this
besides the cramp in my wrist
I have from writing continuously
these nonsensical lines
how surreal the air here that moves
through my veins like bullet trains
speeding through the eighth circle of Hell
but all is well in this particular plane
insane dreams come in slippery packages
and beat me senseless with sick canes
and I deign it necessary to affix
their attitudes to the strange altitude
of my focus fuck it I’d rather
have black coffee and blueberry smoke
so poking around the marble city of dejection
I spare myself the rejection letters and wetness outside
-r. miller
*Insert Propaganda Here* 