Change

I’ve mastered the catastrophe
that combusts all personality,
the cough propelled toward
a hideous clusterfuck of hazards.
There’s a a mimic of speech
somewhere in the hinges,
also some faint twinges of rust
fastened to the breeze.
It’s pure halitosis when it hits,
and when it hits, it hits like
a tectonic plate dissatisfied
with its position relative to the street.
Full positivity, I guess,
in one sense of the phrase.
A real nasal bolero. Though by now,
my axis is slightly offset,
and I’m a gyroscope of confusion,
cosmic bruises lining my interior
like a comic strip. And for fuck’s sake!
I can’t silence my simpering legs!
Had this already been disarray,
it would have been a lot more
tolerable, but prior to my arrival,
I hear the structure had
been blessed with an immaculate facade,
and somehow I had a hand
in its downfall. So once again,
I’m contingent on an arabesque
of accidents, which isn’t news
to me any more than the fact
that depending on your point of view,
the sky is either blue
or sapphire or azure or cerulean,
or that the difference between
stagger and swagger
is one simple letter –

-r. miller

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