Under suspicion,
upwards on a ramble,
for once unsupervised
and learning to mope with dignity,
I speak at last in my own private tongue.

Hadn’t I once fitfully flung
my varied crap at discourse junkies
on their way to bed?
Until at long last
the forum foreclosed on itself,
and my head grew comfortable
in its own weight.

Somewhere, in these loose,
late-blooming moments
lies an insight worth having.
I’m not quite fine anymore,
which was inevitable,
as was the ennui
grinning down on me
from its plush parapet.

It can only get better, right?
Not according to recent forecasts.

-r. miller



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