We were sleepless
on the shoreless sea,
barely afloat, with bruises
on our knees,
when languidly
you said to me
“Should we not seize
the next breeze
the horizon heaves our way,
let it carry us up
to the crest of the Day?”
What I wanted to say was
“Probably, maybe,
but why even try?”
Instead, I just sighed,
and the sea sighed with me.

-r. miller


For Amy 

She’s a weeping whisper,
but blissful.
She’s lissome and lascivious
as a summer’s evening.
You wouldn’t believe
what she has me believing.

We get silly in the sheets,
and the heartbeats
between us
make the rhythm
that accompanies
her melodious moans.

-r. miller

Vicodin and Weed

Turn up the terseness.
All of my verses got vandalized
in the vibrating web of precepts
prefabricated to save everyone
the trouble of thinking.

As the sinking ship said to the sea,
“Well, let’s get this over with then.
Devour me. If this is destiny,
then so be it. And if not…
Well do I have an alternative?”

These sedatives have their own way
of doing things. I tie my sentiments
with string and drag them along
as I scout the cartoonish wasteland
for something to chew on
before sleep sucks me into its kiss.

-r. miller

Desire Comes

The block of houses disappears
into a cold pocket of air.
And the space it leaves
invites one to cram in all kinds
of minutiae: rocking chairs, spare tires,
pinwheels and wire hangers.
No item is too trivial, just so long
as triviality prevails. Then come
the shapely, sultry, seductive dancers
with their various veils, and suddenly,
nothing makes any sense.
With every movement,
they stir up the pensive emptiness
into a frenzy of flame.
Desire comes later in a big way.
If left unattended, it’ll grow into a grave.

-r. miller

Fuck Me Sideways

He enjoys all the wrong transgressions.
Pure and simple aggression
just doesn’t cut the mustard,
though it cuts through skin,
sinew and bone with relative ease.
The detritus he leaves
as he weaves
through the street is well… Shocking.
He has a noxious aura
whirling about his head,
a halo parody to scare the passersby
into submission. I sometimes
like to envision him
with a tree up his ass,
diverting the flow of blood
to its branches, sucking its host dry
before he has a chance
to do the same to the world.

-r. miller


we wrap our fingers
around a culture of quips
slipping through screen doors
and into backyard trysts

the cumbersome get clobbered
the fops get flipped

and we dip our fingers
in dirt to squirt sleaze
on the sediment
vocal impediments

and metronomes blazing
towards a home in the fritz

-r. miller