An Unrealized Career

A gray rage has broken
the harbinger, leaving bits
and pieces scattered like
blisters on the ground.

So this is the merit
of my circumstance!

I can’t be sure, but there
appears to be a message
in the remains,
yet undecoded.

And me, without the means
or methodology to do so.

I’m not exactly a stranger
to such monolithic
embarrassment, but
sooner or later I’m hoping

for a break. Somehow,
I’ve managed to lose hold

of my voice. My voice
being the closest thing
I have to identity. So
what will become of me now?

Learn to accept
disappearance with dignity?

Shatter myself
and drop haphazardly
to the ground with the other
remnants of wholeness

and hope the next
motherfucker who comes

along has a better grasp
of cryptography?
Silence dribbles a threat,
a veritable overture

containing every theme
and variation I’ve come to fear.

A fitting end
to an unrealized career!
So much for that.
A rapid transition from front

to periphery reveals nothing,
and it’s apparent that

I’m not anywhere nearer
to recapturing my voice
(read Self) than I was before,
and the silence

overwhelms me
like an overcoat.

-r. miller

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