One Week Later

Some plastic essence,
demolishes day’s facticity.

The rest, as they say, is history,
a cold, cold history of doubt and regret.
The solid fists of the sun repress
an anesthetic rain
over a land stung with drought.

Meanwhile, I’m feeding
on paradoxes boxed in a shouting
match and still growing hungrier,

now lunging toward
a patchwork blockade with a flame
in my palm. All sense of calm is quelled
in the haze, swept away
in a thick river of violence
and dumped on a lonely shore.

I’ve waltzed with my share
of cloudbursts, and at worst,
they were dreadfully slow,
and left me fixing to flow in the heat.

But then what? Crutches,
agony, and blistered feet.

Now, so it seems, my incurable
tunnel vision has left me dumb,
depraved, and I no longer care
if the light at the end is the light
of day or the light of an oncoming train.

This is a fumbled verse preceding
a desperate refrain,
a canvas framed with nothing to show.

-r. miller

Advertisements

One thought on “One Week Later

Ring the Call Button

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s