The week of my many happy returns
plays in reruns. Sometimes, it’s good
to have minor, though persistent,
aches traipsing within the self.
It makes for a more compelling landscape.
And cigarette smoke is declaring its supremacy
in the air where strangers practice deference.
It’s our policy to reject policy.
Cold water skims the surface
of what some would call folk wisdom.
I procured these fat and quivering letters
to make a new word for “delinquency,”
a scheme to which some were privy,
and that was my achievement of the week,
the week of my many happy returns.
Shyly, I stomp upon the burial urns
containing my filial piety.
Shyly, I seek the furnace where
I’m to burn posterity.
Call me a menace, maybe,
and I’ll whip the shipshape out of you.
I came not to destroy, but defuse.

-r. miller

One thought on “2.21.18

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