Spent Force

I galloped like Jesus across your quicksand values. 
You sent me a love note a day for years. 
Then, the moment the hydra beast re-sketched me for you, 
you heard just what a deaf eye hears. 

One was my protégé… 
One was my clone... 
The first took my stage name, the second my phone. 

The A with the French filched my stance. 
The A with the shorts pilfered my pants — only to gloat. 

Teeming with the confidence that transcends bad memories, 
your dollar-store Yorke voice... 
lysergic avarice for that cherry Rolls-Royce. 

I got a Bible from each grandmother, one great and one small. I prayed 
to the sacrosanct smell of a Walmart greeter’s vest, like a ladybug assassin. 
Ruthless as a rapier to this very moment.

Dana Miller is a writer and melomaniac from Atlanta, Georgia. When not wielding a lethal pen, she adores surf culture, muscle cars, vintage clothing, Epiphone guitars, glitter, Doc Martens, and horses. Dana has served as purveyor of the written word in all its myriad formats, chasing down the history of her beloved books through a bachelor’s degree in English Education from The University of Georgia (UGA) and a master’s degree in English Literature from Georgia State University. While studying at UGA, Dana spent a semester at Oxford University, wherein her passion for all things ancient, top-tier, and mystical was formally ignited.

Artwork by Vamika Sinha