3.2.18

Standard

Within certain limits,
all the breakable stuff
that fills the space of a life
can be organized into a suburb.
Of course, my-word-against-yours
looms above like a sinister parasol.
This is where action and reaction
coincide after all, where the heart
becomes a carnivore, where seasons
wither drastically. Time to send
my integrity to the cleaners.
I’m feeling meaner and more
nebulous than ever, dizzy
with depth, et cetera.
My abstractions silently come
to the realization that they totally
lack substance. The running joke
I aspire to be will soon outpace me.

-r. miller

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