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

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