7/7/17

Standard

Lo! the pterodactyl hymns
weak lips have hummed
now fall into the boredom
to rectify by blindness.
Hast thou considered
what thoughts adorn
a rotting brain?
In warm rain, we saunter
and dish out little cruelties.
The foolish plebs get us not,
not a single bit. Let us,
for a molten moment, sit
among the table scraps
and reflect upon happenstance.
Perchance some dancing in distress?
Later, much later,
after all the sewage has been drained,
we can make a rather fine mess
of your chamber.

-r. miller

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