The Art of Knowing Where to Go From Here

So that’s it, we’re shafted.
After all the backwash.
A wish lifted.
Focus has shifted.
To the insane panes of glass
arranged to mimic nonlinear thought.
Bought baubles. Crippled entrances.
A mesmerizing mockery.
Stuffed heart throbbing.
Thrusting or busting.
Twin forks on the periphery.
You make vague gestures
in a vague room
and I respond with contempt.
Contemplative sutures.
The roar in the wind.

-r. miller

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