Here in the wet earth
we giggle, a gaggle
of underfed, overworked,
pixie-dust addled proles.
Spit-shined souls
with little to lose and less to gain.
Hours wasted licking the creases
of the big brain that birthed us
accumulate steadily,
a monument to our memory
which we’ll readily
topple should the mood turn sour.
For now, however,
it shall remain where it stands;
we’ve yet to plumb
the depths of our power.

-r. miller

2 thoughts on “Power

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