Going on the going
solely, fitfully
abstracted, indeterminate.
The names have you.
Which way, Western man?
Loudly ball breaking,
shape the mists.
Dub thee misfit,
come languish in my tree.
One sudden simultaneous
ablaze from margin to margin.
You’d make a decent garden,
though the soil be untamed.
By the weekend,
we’ll all undo.
Readiness, careening.
-r. miller
*Insert Propaganda Here* 