Combating the Urge to Just Give Up (A Pantoum)

My bones, composed of dusty suns,
limit motion, illustrate stature
and hang together in torpor.
Consider this a paragraph.

Limit motion. Illustrate stature,
for each new day arrives with vacant mouth.
Consider this a paragraph
as you cake your face in absence,

for each new day arrives with vacant mouth
and struggles with posture.
As you cake your face in absence,
negate your droopy reflection

and struggles with posture.
I spill my blood to the margins.
“Negate your droopy reflection”
is now my rallying cry.

I spill my blood to the margins,
but for what? “I don’t give a shit”
is now my rallying cry.
That, and Calico Jack.

But for what? I don’t give a shit.
The matter is always at hand.
That, and Calico Jack.
All aspects of history are fermented.

The matter is always at hand –
my bones, composed of dusty suns.
All aspects of history are fermented
and hang together in torpor.

-r. miller

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