6.20.18

Comforts upset…
These dizzying quarrels…
Glistening in new sun, reflective,
sweetness builds a boredom.
I’ll kill myself if that’s what it takes.
To get the letter off the ground.
To force rudely through… Headache matter
across the tile. One vague column
of vapor rising timidly toward…
Something pulls the worth,
work-a-day trial washed over,
new draft dictating. Polished seeds,
half-felt rejection. I will go
henceforth by hand
distributing packets of sleep
to every available neighbor.
Tell me again my war
isn’t worth the wager.

-r. miller

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