1.11.19

Standard

I hadn’t thought it through.
I hadn’t devoted quite enough attention
to the details as they drifted
through the space between dream and fever.
The cream of morning rises
to a barren height, its light breaking
like a dropped mirror.
Time to memorize the terrors
twisting ’round the gate.
Time to breathe the hatred
into waking. My only wish
is that the quaking in my eyes
subsides so that I can see
in still-life again.

-r. miller

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s