3.18.19

Standard

Grasping for the cluster
of fevered nerves,
never have I been so beautiful.
Corrupt youthfulness
with a worldly grin and devotion.
My intonation seems off.
Not that I’m better for it,
but that I’m circumscribed.
At least these scribbles
somehow assume a meaning
when pressed. Dressed in fire,
perspiring still. But
this is my own illness, which
is more than some can say.

-r. miller

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3.15.19

Standard

Curbing the cool factor
altered the big of the mind.
So probably, we lack in upstart,
a stance inclined toward gruel.
Unlike, say, a swishing, hips mostly.
Thus, I discourse sporadically,
metronome knuckle crux calibrated.
For all passion and please,
we would so languish in a tragedy
like fabulous fumes.
Neck deep in dooms, derailing.
We get ailing and apocryphal.
Shut it down/wind it up/bloody nose a-run.
All weak long getting rehashed,
whiplashed, and frozen in fails.
I can’t stomach these trifles…

-r. miller

3.13.19

Standard

With dystopian flourish,
the itch resonates, stimulates
politely to withering degrees.
Like hush we fall sequential rains.
By all pains determined,
the ball of speech solidifying gently.
Turn us all against me
in the mollifying drops,
for I am disagreement and shudder not.
Come slow rot, morning dysmorphia.
Remembrance shifts soundlessly
towards a discontinuity.

-r. miller

3.12.19

Standard

Thorough the abdication, but
I know us better than I’ll admit.
I have a serious inclination to exasperate.
Excessively defensive,
demonstrate intensity of hush,
o beleaguered and deboned.
Thunk happens worse than instantaneous,
while the reaction time is stretched
like skin drying in the sun.
I’m not one for holidays, displays of lush.
Cadence cooling rush.
Your sensuous villainy disarms.

-r. miller