The way of moving,
hapless disaffection chews
the blight terrain egregiously.
Hopefully worth the risk.
At times too frisky to measure,
but others, too predictable.
Brazen trash coos
burn mesmeric beyond reaction.
Possibly I paid, relinquished.
Me in a liquid body
courses to ruin or apogee.
Swear the filter breather ritual
follows its flaws to the letter.
Not one distinct. Neutral blather.
Heated around the lips
I’ve been given to pucker.
I swear by swelter, seems to me,
asleep in the departing.
-r. miller
*Insert Propaganda Here* 