Atop this mound
of disemboweled clocks and watches,
the land seems impermanent.
I wave to you
from an opposing coast and you
don’t notice. Such is our rapport.
Rinse and repeat these words.
Clarity comes clattering
like a thousand dropped swords.
I think it’s time for reappraisal, for
reprising the roles
we had initially intended for ourselves.
I see you getting all ambiguous in the rain,
and find it comforting
to know that things like this
are still possible, that
with enough distance,
everything looks meaningless,
even the memes we make of ourselves
to keep us in suspension.
You used to view me with suspicion.
The joke’s officially on you.
-r. miller
*Insert Propaganda Here* 