Ghastly, That

Oh my, the inquietude here…
Just so… Erotic. Doubly toxic,
she pours through corridor after corridor
in Being’s conceit.
Unable to admit defeat, we are numb.
Dumb as a sewer.
Excessive to the point of marketability.

The audacity. She tells me she loves me.
The audacity. Now giving
these propensities names
appropriate to their rankings.
Going absolutely wild on the tasking.

Better that I make an extravagant getaway
than make myself at home.
Oh but the dome is just so immense,
so immensely satisfactory.
The letter grade reveals
what we already knew about me,
that I’m bored and stricken
and slick enough to slide on.

Ghastly, that. She tells me she loves me,
and to my shock, I believe her.

-r. miller

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