Something dissatisfying
has pummeled summer
into submission. So begins
the latest sleep experiment.
Note the scented candles.
Ditto the urinal cakes.
Ambiguity’s cold breath
leaves its tender stamp
on the situation at hand.
Initially, I’d planned on abandoning
this backwards land at the first
stirring of trouble, yet… Here I am still,
entangled in its wiry, lecherous fingers
like a rosary. Nowhere left to see,
save for a vacant lot or two.
Nowhere left to comfortably
rest one’s head. The evenings
here are but dead weight.
-r. miller
*Insert Propaganda Here* 