Come on, hang on, hang up,
and let the whisper of neglect
overwhelm the space between breaths.
In just another minute,
this private mythology will break
into public threads, glistening like tinsel,
wafting above the night parade
and delighting all who stop and stare.
What to do with all that ancient care
that’s been piling in the corners?
The longer it sits, the more it ripens;
the more it ripens, the more it corrodes
the spirit that dwells humbly
in a place of permanence,
i.e. not in us, who gleefully accept
our entropy like an academy award.
In other words, meaning means less
than you once thought,
isn’t wholly necessary,
but does add a nice touch
if you can somehow fit it tastefully
in with the rest of your decor.
Of course, you always let the door
slam on your fingers. Sometimes
just for kicks, sometimes
to prove a point. And what is the point?
Operators are standing by,
but only metaphorically.

-r. miller

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