Hold on to your delirium.
The diatribe mechanism
is gummed up with sunshine.
And the legions of cold sores
gathering in the distance
show no signs of accomplishing anything.
Pompous and ponderous,
I wrap myself in a discursive shroud
and push penance aside.
Walk beside me, feral one,
that we may walk as equals.
Already, three sequels
have been commissioned,
and I’ve grown numb to the weeds.

-r. miller

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