Jack Miller
Leave out the hymnal and plainsong. Leave out the rosary beads and the monstrance flickering in nightly votive lights. The incense sharpens in the lungs a formidable set of eyes, made of smoke ash oblations to the Self Leave out your suppositions and needs. Set your eyes of smoke to the sorrow and in insomniac vigils of mysteries dress the sky in vestments of scars. Had eyes to see us, so filtered white light pours out of your mouth when the Rite of Exorcism casts your beauty out, and when you receive chewy Flesh. It waits now for wind and rain to come and it sets blurring ink to pages of chants, and I ask you: leave out your body. Exorcise everything but the memory of my eyes and I will leave out just for your peace of mind, the flashing colors in my irises, vanishing to grey.

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Jack Miller is a poet from San Francisco, living in Tennessee,. His chapbook "The Glory Tree" is forthcoming by Bone & Ink Press. His writing has appeared in Raven Chronicles and Open Minds Quarterly among others.