One last smile working
the death’s head into paste.
The making haste worry-
wart full done bloomed in precarity.
Meanwhile, look at the celerity
our cruelty achieves when unimpeded.
None consider the cost of progress,
blood on the unseeded lawn.
None could contain the barbaric yawn
sounding through the sky.
Re-contextualize this in a whorl of gauze.
I’m riding the next long pause out of memory.
-r. miller
*Insert Propaganda Here* 