Good grief
on gravy wheels,
graven imagery.
We have a lot to suspect,
and how damning is that?
The durability of passion,
any passion,
is riddled with context.
Come unhinge,
or bathe in silken rivers,
let’s recant whatever
repentance was asked,
drive in dire aura
to the second degree.
I have this rapture to explain.
I have this rupture to maintain.
Mountains of blather
bleed discursively
through the humdrum.
Don’t expect any further
dumbing down.

-r. miller

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