As if assembled automatically,
this tragic machinery assumes
a central place in the landscape.
A grinding calypso issues from its bowels
with the sole aim of bugging
all into submission. This variety
of tension manifests quite rarely,
but when it does, the end result
is almost always internal combustion.
I’d wanted only to coagulate.
Hatred cools the corpus
beyond the scope of sensible.
Not one of us is agreeable,
and it is here we find our strength.
Though to continue forward
requires that we not only find that strength,
but nurture it. More and more,
self-assuredness seems to fluster
rather than stabilize. Pale descriptors
latch onto the wobbling pedestal.
Behold, o brazen deities and demons,
the foundations of our understanding.

-r. miller

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