Bleeding from the edges,
the instant intensifies.
Descriptions of a durable duress
intrude from somewhere out of favor.
There’s something off about the flavor,
the way it slides so easily off the tongue
and seeps into the corners of the mouth.
We won’t be flying south this winter,
but this no longer needs to be said.
This half-dead enterprise will chide us
into becoming our worst interpretations.
Tonight we will feed upon the cold.
-r. miller
*Insert Propaganda Here* 