Waste disorder lyrically in omission.
But a practical revision articulates
that which bombards with stillness.
No frills deconstruction,
you underscore with patience.
Up against dictation
break a dissonant chord.
Here and there a word
wracked by entitlement.
The garden of gross misfortune.
So wait, I have to importune
the power grubbers
with my questioning demands.
Comprehensive fear of nearness,
our habitation.
Mind the bones, not the spasms.
On the cusp in cuffs of fire.
Might this emphasize retreat?
-r. miller
*Insert Propaganda Here* 