Riding this process
(like a fucking champ, son)
my own inverse crucifix
to flex when indignation swells
in a fix the six faces of hell
all a-yawn at eventide
glad tidings and wishbones
for those unblessed
two-tone bullets one
for each martyr’s back
and me not up to the task
unflinching nevertheless smiling
through ashtray teeth pulling
a chill through my veins
-r. miller
*Insert Propaganda Here* 