Certain Stimuli

Deadass left me in a death’s alley,
volleying for supremacy
with a prick and a pontiff.

Elsewhere, the populace grows stiff,
stunting further projections into the ether
of stifled voices that formed around the state
like a concrete dome.

How nice for them.

But certain stimuli
we withheld from our eager flesh
and clearly it’s only beginning
to exact a rather inexact toll;
it would seem our fate is “sealed,”
as in a wax casing.

And here I figured that the path to salvation
necessarily entailed chasing every chance
ego death wherever they emerged.
Now the wandering catastrophe stills
to emit a prophecy,
one whose implications neither stun nor alarm,
but which nevertheless spell
disquiet for us all.

-r. miller

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