6/28/17

Standard

In a less restrictive way,
I tie a knot around
the throbbing cosmos.
Suddenly, an influx of light
from a star which died
in a century past illuminates
the interior of my skull,
haphazardly, but not without
a rustic sort of charm.
Following the catastrophe,
no traces of civilized life remain.
Painful though it is, I scatter the ashes
of my former incarnation
over the dirt. The hurt intensifies
until it pops like a blister
soaked in warm water.
I mop up the excess spillage
and blow a kiss to the earth,
somewhat assured
that whatever is happening
was meant to happen.
A ringing punctuates the silence.
I feel foolish now for feeling the way that I feel,
unreal, dealing with dissonance
in the digital age. Now, I fritter away
in the awkward summer daze,
sipping herbal tea, and coughing up
clusters of marijuana smoke.

-r. miller

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