The sun is filled with gas and carries an axe.
I am the wound I inflict on others
during Saturday morning cartoons.
The sun is a feral cat.
I am asleep and not responding to your text.
The sun is a way out of night.
I get excited about everything from stardust
to a wet burning mouth.
The sun is also a hot mess.
I am weary of men who call out nature.
The sun is a slit throat.
I am often asked to make something
better than it previously was.
The sun is brokenhearted in the comments section
but confident in the sky.
I am a weeping tree, and the rain
is torturing someone outside the window.
The sun is a glowing screen of scrolled feeds
intended to make us lonely.
I am the billboard that faded after the new highway
rerouted traffic and turned us on ourselves.
The sun is to blame for growing things
in the depths of its darkness.
Like the sun, I wooed the sea.
I am at fault for wooing the sea.
Grant Gerald Miller was born in Memphis, Tennessee. He is currently an MFA candidate at the University of Alabama and an assistant editor at Black Warrior Review. His work has appeared or is set to appear in various journals including Hobart, Qu Magazine, Bartleby Snopes, Necessary Fiction, and Nimrod. This poem is part of a larger work co-written with A.M. O’Malley entitled Duel or Duet.