No Exit?

Quick, hold my libido while
I dance through frenzies
of remote control, while
beauty wriggles into a holy fuck
and out of anyone’s reach.
What are they teaching us these days?
Stagnant ways of being
which protrude through the feedback loop
to remind us that we have no exit.
Black hole summer swallows spring
and all that we’ve forgotten about spring
but could never bring our selves to face.
I think the timing is slightly off,
though my opinion counts for little
on this deadbeat shore.
How much more vexation
can we stomach? Who’s askin’?
That’s a trick question. Now,
kindly direct me to
the nearest firing squad.

-r. miller

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