Comes weak,
eggs at my fulcrum,
the push and permanence
grizzling all.
Harbor the mean
for a quizzical bearing,
leave it up air scrawling.
It’s my graft, understand?
To go trolling is one way
to uppercut,
though shut out
all my heathens,
all my heathens…
Scowled, creased,
and begging
for disarmament.

-r. miller

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