High July

A sunset walk in the high blue,
one of those days that stretches so far you can’t believe the morning belongs to the afternoon,
or that either could ever become a night.

I would have been here sooner
but I was busy cleaning up the mess that came from trying it your way,
shoving past the bootblacks and venerable metallurgists.

1000 years of dreaming at your feet and this is all it got me—behind.

I wrote our Midsummer vows on a ream accidentally smeared with bug blood.
You know how it is with cosh boys…..

But Carter was elected with those rock-n-roll funds
and you know Twiggs Lyndon–he ain’t the only one.

Blues invocations in southern graveyards seem to stick–like faulty ripcords.



Dana Miller is a wicked wordsmith, giggling provocateuse, and mega-melomaniac from Atlanta, Georgia. Her poetic syllables like to trundle in the wilds—usually in search of a smackerel or two.