It’s high time for a dry run.
Why don’t we get on with the sun?
In spite of personality crises
and crass remarks, are we not
ideologically aligned?
Suspicion falls upon the wobbly plain,
where all roads seem to undulate.
We germinate correctly,
the way we were taught,
caught up in ceaseless cycles
of thirst and shame.
They had a name for us once – that being…
It won’t matter come dusk,
when waning light drives us
back into obscurity, and our tongues
begin withering.
-r. miller
*Insert Propaganda Here* 