Festooning the formless,
little blazes blink despondently
something untranslatable.
Am I something more
than a mere totem? To what effect?
And is my name
a shimmering rope of tinsel?
Best leave those questions unasked,
otherwise we might become problematic.
A mist of bad intentions
leaves me more stupefied
than stymied (But it helps).
Correct me if I’m helpless.
My inner peace is a bloody shambles.

-r. miller

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