I could but compete
with the coarser vices erupting
from new age vanity. Undeterred,
sanity unraveling in a heap about my feet.
I tuned my wounds to the pitch
of an overcrowded sky. Had my intent
been to die on this ghastly hill,
I’d have done so in the tackiest way possible.
Overblown production and everything.
I just wasn’t excited enough.
Later, some others bumrushed the ruins
I’d made a home of and scattered
accusatory glances wherever there was room.
I sunk into a kind of gloom then.
One less spacious and less kind
than the one I’d been cultivating.

-r. miller


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