On the ween again, disippated
and underglad, this may truly
upset the memory. Let me
frame it as best I can:
the grease of the soul has muddled its image.
I thought only in the empty places
and spoke up after
the whole blood chilled.
Get your own perversions.
On autopilot, even.
Stirring all variety
of delectable filth
to make it stay down.
I’m as good a citizen.
A passion discreetly pulled.
But that’s for another digression…

-r. miller

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