The play-by-play

Mass confusion squirms
through the keyhole.

The minutemen endorse it,
nurture it, give it flowers
and jewels from exotic lands.
All the flavors of a well-oiled rectum.

We mosey along a spectrum of disorder
whose intricacies we lack
the ability to decipher.

Descriptions of pain and sex
merge to form some kind of awfulness
and the problematic urges
we urge to fruition
have become too tyrannical for our tastes.

Make haste to the exists.
The ancients are calling for sacrifice.

-r. miller


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