9.27.19

Come through
to still the breathing liquid.
In the language that I lack,
there is no space for revelation.
Nevertheless, I feel so pretty!
Consternation cracks the city
with its palpable charms,
storms the fracture
and embeds itself within.
We lap the blood from our fingertips.
We imagine ourselves good
for the first time, only for the first time.
The stain of dusk spreads further
and deeper every day,
and perhaps soon,
will learn to move us to tears.

-r. miller

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