7.30.18

Time for a swallow
of orange-flavored fortitude.
I’ll leave this withering attitude
at my feet, avoid it for the time being.
It’s never easy seeing myself like this,
belly up in a boiling sea of scrawl.
Sooner or later, the waters
will tickle my throat. But
I shall not drown, for I am liquid.
Today quickens and second-guesses
array themselves on the fringes.
The planet’s pulse puts forth
a waltz only the downtrodden can step to.
No complaint issues from my pen.
Call me companionable,
but don’t. Really.

-r. miller

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