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
*Insert Propaganda Here* 