Like I Was Saying

When the untethering commences,
what brave new forms of living
shall be ushered in?
At times, the pressure to keep to oneself
is unsuitable, unsustainable.
The tongue of noon, pushing through wilting crowds,
grows fat on its own spit.
A real workhorse passion is at play here,
in the hearts of every forsaken forlorn denizen.
It so happens we push pencils
for the fun of it.
These veiled intrusions
displace the life of the mind.
Suddenly, we find ourselves palpable.

-r. miller

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