Rocketing amid beatboxing and silver,
ringing necks and paragraphs.
Sheets of traffic laughter.
Sloe gin fizz followed
by getting down to business.
We impaled him, the witness,
on our witless pricks.
A stick figure salary.
Hopped up on celery jargon.
He got a lust tea whiz.
Purloined piss of our forefathers
going further into stone dumb slumber.
And shifty umber clouds
the flavor of shifty umber clouds
or possibly coal-gas, but
shot from clarity’s rectum.
(She damn near killed ’em!)
And we tongue kissed the coursing river.
We got swept away by liver disease.
Knees baked. Earthquake coming hard.

-r. miller

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