It’s like you don’t even listen sometimes.
I don’t want pomp and circumcision
all night long, understand?
But later, I see your handprint appearing
on the glistered mirror

and it’s like garbage day again.
I can’t halt the weaving procession
of fever dreams like you can,
so they just keep on weaving,
cleaving to my entrails like weird ticks.

-r. miller

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