Sequence interrupt.
The value is the limit,
the limit is the floor.
Why we even bother/false brother/
caustic line/spoken blood.
There’s something
obstructing the view,
fault or eternity,
the scent of whatever.
Two clasped hands, concealing…
A litany/weather cluster/verisimilitude.
Draw this water from the well
and partake.
Dry your voice, and sing.
-r. miller
*Insert Propaganda Here* 