For Those Unblessed

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

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