6.13.18

The directionless
are winding their jaws
for a preemptive strike.
The lengths some will go to
for a like these days…
No escape from the nauseous haze
steadily unspooling
from the mouth of our sickly sun.
No escape, no release.
No fucking surprise.
Soon comes a squalor
with gauze over its eyes
and a fistful of dry roses.
I ease into neurosis
like a goddamn pro,
showing the way
for future generations
to avoid or ignore.

-r. miller

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