By the fireside

The stark beacons wave
their fingers just a bit too high.
Do they intend to poke the sky’s eyes,
or what? Sometimes,
you have to roll on over and take it,
that’s what the Zeitgeist says.
Well, I have some things of my own
to say to the Zeitgeist.
And a pair of brass knuckles
to say them with. So
how about those spritzers?
Or the crab cake walk?
And the talk of blustery citizens
in the agora of our fantasies?
There’s snow atop the roads tonight,
and a silver breeze is humming.
I’d like to dumb things down,
but how down do you have to be?
Your lips are saying “No,” but also
“Go fuck yourself.”

-r. miller

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