From My Window

The blue strike stricken,
sickened by heat,
lugubrious beats
from a burnt out beat box.
High tops and trucks.
A well-placed sucker
and the fun is blundered.
Why my thundering mind
tore asunder the fabric
of my virtue I’ll never know.
Nor will I ever know
the causes of the caustic laughter
drifting through the afternoon.
Every crony croons doom.
Stifled slumber in the waiting room.
Vacate the premise.

-r. miller

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