At the Filling Station

Disorder calculated
signs of symmetry and value
on indignant plains

while craning my neck
the light
from the ceiling
slinks down my throat
and starts fucking around
with my organs

from Germanic tribes

trickles of breath

hold open the goddamn door
for once

overture future’s wading
in a shallow pool
of callous notions
and disgust
with the whole of humanity

a human thing
an all – too – human – thing
an all too human
or all too thing

cobblestoned lock

clock the bastard
in his bastard face
and tear his bastard lips
away so that he’ll never – smile – again

pollen beds – thinking
of sex thinking
of wanting to be
out of this rut

-r. miller

2 thoughts on “At the Filling Station

  1. There’s so much I love about this. At the risk of sounding over enthusiastic – your writing style is incredable! I wish I could put words together like that and create such fantastic imagery.

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