Stronger Drink

The conundrum drums its way
through the rum-tinted air,

flaring up intermittently
in riotous tantrums.

So I turn to my phantom limbs.
The rim of my glass.

It seems that somehow
I’ve fallen ass-backwards

into a mountain of tears,
bruised by the sheer intensity

of its grief. Had only I been born
an autumn leaf, I’ve not have to

cope with such injury.
Hapless happenstance.

The dance of desert winds
in the sullen eye of time.

-r. miller

Talkin’ Bout My Generation

What secrets does the spirit
of the age divulge?

Allow me, for a moment,
to indulge my insecurities,
anxieties, and the fierce funnel
of chronology in which
I’m constantly spiraling.

The mire of these days
saddles me with its belligerent haze,
crazed and erupting with displays
of bestial force.

How long until we reach
the source of the stream?

The muddled dreams
of living in the moment,
will they too be revealed?

Or will they remain
eternally sealed
in the viscous nightmare
that is our new mode of seeing?

-r. miller

Breath

“So much for distractions,”
was her reaction to the circumstance.

The dance of color and sound
had surrounded us

with a sort of warmth, but one
which always threatened to pull away.

Underneath everything
was the desire to play the situation

like a series of bells.
It was hell on the heart.

Part of me was in on the joke,
while another stroked the fire in her.

Electrical wires chanted psalms
overhead, against the dead air.

Her hair was washed
in autumn’s breath.

-r. miller

One Piece

I am but one piece of a faltering era,
which each day inches closer
to total collapse.
A lapse in my lineage
would account for this unbalanced state.

Floodgates break,
spilling unfair assumptions
on an unsuspecting plain.
I should readjust my frame of reference,
find new methods of social engagement,

but given my shitty placement
on the cosmic scale,
I’m bound to failure
like a train to rails.
Convictions sail blindly

through measureless space,
and I trace their movements
on the wall of my brain,
which explains practically nothing.
Practically nothing at all –

-r. miller

Damage Control

Something significant broke
apart my heart’s feeble altar.
The will and the way are not
one and the same.

So I chose to blame my idiocy
on the syntax of the moment
and drafted a new set
of governing principles.

Truth at all costs seemed
outmoded at best.
An unwelcome guest sent
to upset the festivities.

My natural proclivities
were gaining strength, biding time.
All signs pointed to watch for more signs.
I had to establish well-defined

lines of demarcation.
Justification was merely
an afterthought, though
it brought me respect.

And in retrospect, that
was my sole demand. Still –
the hand that moves the world
has other things in mind…

-r. miller

Are You Coming?

Are you coming? Are you coming? Are you thumbing your way to cooler climes where rhymes hang like spittle from the air’s blue lips? Are you ripping brittle pages from the books of your genealogy? Are you coming? Are you humming? Are your eyes the feral truth of humankind and our capacity for grace and cruelty? Are you pulling blood through your teeth or are you wreathed in accidents? Are you coming? Are you running? Are you summing up your failures in a line of brutal ink? Are you sinking through the floorboards like a punctured boat? Are you coming? Are you coming? No really – are you coming?

-r. miller