Another bout of blathering
about apocalyptic straining
of sinew, nerve, and brain.
Another tepid rain
failing to rinse the body clean.
Another one for the road,
she says by the skin of her teeth.
And when those teeth
shed their skins? Then
we’re in deeper than ever,
admitting defeat with the rest
of the entourage, and the fete
we made of our attraction
assumes a rather damaged
hangdog look. And to think –
of all the wrong turns, twists
and misdirections, this
is the one we took.
-r. miller
*Insert Propaganda Here* 