2.9.18

Take this green for a foretaste of spring,
loosen your timid squall from its home
in the clouds of self-awareness.
Stop me if you’d like this dumbed down slightly.
Given that my nightly desecration sprees
are on hold, I may need a helping hand
to lead me into temptation.
A beleaguered nation
turns over in its sleep.
Too deeply have I felt the lash of lucidity
whilst idling in the feeding frenzy
collectively conceived.
This used to be something worth believing in.
This used to be a recreational occupation
but with stab wounds.
I mark the time and chew my fingers
until I appreciate them.
I’ll be long gone before you read this.

-r. miller

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