The Drift

Standard

Catalogue murmurs…
Whimpering whips
up strike choral fallen.
Pressure on gall bladder.
And still up the ladder we climb.
Heights unbroken by moral certainty
but certainly shocking.
Chocolate marbles.
Tender warbling bumps the collar bone.
We got to get into alone
blister heat spirals spinning up
in the monochrome.
Home? Well what is home anyway?
A four letter word, one
that sticks to the tongue
and remains there, festering.

-r. miller

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