Gathered moss

As if these thoughts had bodies
built for two-stepping.
Awakening more pressing matters
to be smothered in the velvet
of yesterday’s undoing.
I speak the language of vivisection.
Unquestionable denial.
What this represents is a triumph of style.
My underbelly ruptures
and stagnation stakes its claim.
You’re never ever going to see
my name in lights.

-r. miller

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