The cadence of these blows
has me mesmerized.
Extremity, cold, and slurred speech —
these all have their place, non?
To find just where that is,
is just one part of the spectacle.
To shape it so the pieces fit is another.
Now, behold
the enfolding talons of another day in bed.
My poor feeble head beneath that burden
overswells with inarticulated worry.
This proves that I’m disposable.
Time to dim the lights
and twist the shadows ’round my fingers.
Here, the script calls for a deluge,
but “of what” remains unspecified.

-r. miller

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