In theory, I am an electrified angel
whose wings have been clipped
in the interest of security.
Of course, I’m more insecure
than ever before, so who’s benefiting?
I’d like to know this, plus several other things
that I’ll reveal only after dinner is served.
Careful, the road curves something
wicked after the sobriety checkpoint.
Careful, the pale anointed ones
are eavesdropping and it’ll go better
for us the less they discover.
It boils down to a kind of smothering,
if that helps. This story was scrawled in dirt
long before we formed an opinion
about ourselves and the general hierarchy.
If not for the anarchy of my senses,
I think I’d be enthralled.

-r. miller

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