The text has unfolded its intent,
spread it over the dry grass to bask
in the arid sense of wanting
to be elsewhere. The chapters
have charted a course for an obscure star.
You mull over the typeface index,
searching for an attractive way
to present a harsh but well-intentioned truth.
Like a tooth falls the moon
and its accoutrements, but the day
comes on darker than stained glass.
Your mouth is in no shape
for carrying graven images, golden calves
of commerce and oblivion.
Sometimes, it’s necessary to add water.
Sometimes, it’s necessary to make
dense predictions about the weather.
Still, when push comes to shove,
the tensile strength of the tether
makes all the difference.
-r. miller
*Insert Propaganda Here* 