Irrelevant

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We like the way it looks,
the crooked portrait of aging dawn.
It came on slowly, like a yawn,
and pawned its supply of disfigurements
off on us, which we reluctantly accepted
as a sort of peace offering, but one
whose rationale was not immediately apparent.
After all, we’d barely been introduced.
What was your name again? What do you do?
A thin blue haze settled on the avenue
and we breathed in its fumes,
filling our lungs with a bitter sweetness,
something like nostalgia, but a nostalgia
for some discordant era we never lived through.
Wrapped in that eldritch comfort, we sunk
deep into a slumber filled with dreams
whose unsavory meanings we haven’t
yet coped with, and upon awakening,
we were stupefied by how greatly everything
had been altered, faltering as we rose,
wondering whether or not we fit into
this new order of things.

-r. miller

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