Going into glisten,
night-blended of course,
and in shock.
We’ll have a smooth one,
on clock sputtering,
spiffy weird conundrum.
Spies in flashlight,
dehydrated yet awash,
cry winter.
In totality blister interest
ceding nothing further
to the cause.
I let my blink aloft
on swoop of wind.
I love once by word,
so it seems.
Onyx canopy drenched in dream,
sliding at last in contradiction.
-r. miller
*Insert Propaganda Here* 