Committed to bits,
envious teeming realism
in quiet derailed.
These upswing discouraged,
assailed by graces,
what the mouth can proffer.
Prospects tinge abstractly.
Others than gift by now,
at home the bladders.
Destroy my villainies,
screaming into one’s hands
as heat badgers and clouds bleed.
Bless the cold robots
we’re destined to be.
-r. miller
*Insert Propaganda Here* 