The Bleeding

Full-on in the delivery,
the voice learns a new kind of ache.
It isn’t the mouth that wakens
the reversals, great or small,
but the whole sagging organism
replete with lines of flight and loaded barriers.

Feel now the dull chill of controversy
in the fingertips. Silence slips the landing,
a fresh article is exposed.
And the bleeding… Oh grief, the bleeding.

Somewhere beyond the standard range,
they’re ceding new territory to the socius,
divesting our preferred arrangements
of their staying power.

You feel the flower in your teeth
as it begs and begins wiping her petals
against the enameled walls that withhold her
from her fevered joys. The forecast predicts
meeker misadventures for the day of rest.
The best is yet to be distilled.

-r. miller

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