Too Old For This Shit

Hash in the gash, thrill in the gill.
The water will rear its head
and make asses out of all of us.

Noxious gasses are coming
from virtually everywhere,
everywhere we are anyway,

so it seems just as good a time as any
to make a game of seeing who pukes first.
Vomit in a metaphysical sense

is called nostalgia, and we get a new nostalgia
every 20 years, mostly to benefit
the younger generation who didn’t live

through whatever era we’re celebrating.
I remember the 90’s just fine on my own,
thank you, and those years were vastly different

from how they’re romanticized.
So it’s now they eyes of the universe
are falling on me, falling on you, falling

on the rancid ground we stand upon
because an eye has got to fall
like a rock in an ocean or at the very least,

like bird shit on a car windshield.
Both have equal significance,
which is something I don’t.

-r. miller


Do you remember when we used
To dance simply because
It was the only thing
There was to do?

O Temerity! O Youth!
You are hastening your retreat
Into the carnivorous ventricles
Of memory, and my arms are folded.

I never wanted to be good.
                  I only wanted to be beautiful
As you are beautiful, to drift
                  Endlessly, without direction
            And softly through the lavender air.
Your sparkling image reflected
                       Off the looking glass of Summer.

-r. miller