You accidentally breathe.
Minute seething.
The props of a discarded,
dismembered dynasty.
We accede to a method of living.
At this juncture,
forgiving is a sliver of something wonderful.
And your ovens explode,
gas reigns everywhere,
no one is safe,
no safety in numbers,
numbers is beat.
It’s a treat to repeat
steps one through eighteen.
But steps nineteen through thirty
are a real bitch to complete.
Somebody reaps our failings.
Numberless retreats.
You accidentally breathe
before gasping out of control.

-r. miller


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