Strobe Lights

They bust a metric.
Coupled in wheezing,
lyrical backwash,
the hummers drift
as diligently as sun.
I wonder what hovers
between mania and freezing rain.
What abstains from turpentine.
Holy minefields!
I can mimic a razor
like nobody’s business.
You dare to dry
your dire needs
among my heady weeds?
Have a look through my telescope
and bask in disappointment forever.

-r. miller

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