Leisurely, the abyss crawls up
through showers of squandered potential,
slips into something more comfortable.
I’d rather be doing it in the dark.

Try being more relatable, mon cher,
and I might try you on for size.
Funny how time flies
when you’re eating your fingers.

Whose silhouette, shade or wraith
lingers here before me?
As if the situation could be
any more tantalizing…

-r. miller


Comforts upset…
These dizzying quarrels…
Glistening in new sun, reflective,
sweetness builds a boredom.
I’ll kill myself if that’s what it takes.
To get the letter off the ground.
To force rudely through… Headache matter
across the tile. One vague column
of vapor rising timidly toward…
Something pulls the worth,
work-a-day trial washed over,
new draft dictating. Polished seeds,
half-felt rejection. I will go
henceforth by hand
distributing packets of sleep
to every available neighbor.
Tell me again my war
isn’t worth the wager.

-r. miller


These leaves wither with diligence.
Air grows slightly sour, self-destructive.
Behold my real game face!
and these floors I pace with diligence,
with just the right amount of worry.
Here, there is no hurry,
only slow decay and several kinds of boredom,
depending on your appetite.
Here there is only flight
without fancy and a light
most discomforting.
These floors I pace with diligence
seem keen to eat me alive.
I’m running out of reasons
not to let them.

-r. miller