Paths more lyrical

Deliciously, loaves of nagging
want lay single file.
Signal flares astonish
the least of us, and that’s it:
hammer time.
Comes the freshness with a limp.
Of course, I can’t see where I’m going,
but this particular mist
is merely metaphysical.
I’ve traveled paths
more lyrical than this.
Therein lies the problem,
like a waiting lover.
How about we hover
over into a new milieu,
feel excited about something again?
Point me in that direction
as politely as possible,
then avoid me
no matter how hard you try.

-r. miller

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