Given something to brag about,
and finally a rolling of eyes.
Well, let’s shake the temple
down to the foundations if we can.
Your hair is slightly out of place
in this particular Zeitgeist.
Sure enough, tension spits in the wind
out of purest boredom.
Bedroom lockdown! Like I was saying…
Fornicators of the world, undress.
How is it I only find solace
in the rusty fuselage of sleep?
That isn’t the half of it.
Mind the collisions, why don’t you?
And the abrasions whispering of ill tidings.
My once-a-month pride
has finally expired. Ride or die –
the stickiest of wickets.

-r. miller

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