It’s an existential thing, you wouldn’t understand.

Standard

As sleep we in the furnace, moving
teeth in time, splendid shine
the ether lingering.
Two bit fingers fingering a pulse.
Sometimes loss and always without
speaking. My joints
and all their creaking, how
messy is a life! How
spooky full of chewing gum!
We move dumbly
through a wicked mire
and never stop long enough to care.

-r. miller

Something falling to pieces

Standard

At the interstice between failure
and forgery. Swelling intently.
A kick and a scream.
Blankets of thought. Tug lightly
your mellow. Caustic ouvre.
Limelight withstood.
Petitioning the main.
Discursive drain. Profuse
satisfaction. We are merely.
Dead in the desert
of our innermost convictions.
Nomenclature shattered.
Spilled milk on the
tabletop. Floors wet with
wickedness. Slurped
dissonance. Faltering.

-r. miller

I ran out of things to say, so I’ll just drink instead.

Standard

Some kind of sinister
has slipped through the frame.
Name dropping got me
nowhere, but slowly.
For the final time I don
the lowly robes
of a lesser monarch
whose haphazard governing
has left the kingdom a parody.
I’ve arranged the books
on my shelf
in no particular order.
I have no new schemes,
no new drama.
One more whiskey sour
will finish me.

A real gentleman

Standard

They call him the velour phantom.
He barks dirges in an empty harbor
at twilight, dirges that reach no ears
but his own and the dried cherubs
skimming the breeze.
His madness is hinged to a principle,
one that’s indiscernible
to even the most capable mind.
Beetles nest in his hindquarters.
He has perpetual rickets.
A thicket full of cancelled stamps
occupies the space
where his lungs should be.
Nothing about him is genuine.
He chews Grace with burnt teeth
and spits out bellyaches.

-r. miller