It’s a Gamble

What to do about
all these sharks on the turnpike?
I’ve got the dead microphone blues again.
Clues to a kink. The viscous aurora
drinks its own solitude
from a crude cup
fashioned from fossil.
Oscillating fans stand at attention.
Redemption is for those
who follow the way of the freak.
Peak shopping hours.
I scour for peace
in the pumpernickel hills.
I come up instead
with ten thousand oil spills
and a sack full of dice.

-r. miller