10/15/17

Standard

In with slumping…
Conveyance of hush… (Fabulous)
Diligent and kneeling…
Whatever do these leaky deities
demand? That no hand
grasp and no foot
anchor to the ground,
that not eye structure what it sees
according to its own design.

-r. miller

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10/11/17

Standard

The carnival sequence
unrolls deliciously
before the sad eyes
of the boho squatters
who wanted only
to get a grip.

The varied pictures slip
in and out
of one another, too fast
for anyone to see
just what it is
that they depict.

I’m back with my pants down.
It’s the modern way,
and I’m nothing, I tell you,
nothing if not modern.
This will only get you
so far, however.

I’d be happy to elaborate,
maybe over drinks?
Of course, you’ll have
my searing sneer to contend with
and I wouldn’t wish that
on my bitterest friend.

-r. miller

Recurring dream of you

Standard

Too much else. You stroke
kindly the wavering within
and adorn the air in crimson smoke,
though the cold absorbs completely.

This matters later, during those hours
where the recurring dream of you
wounds my waking
until waking is disagreeable,

and the ticking of my watch
becomes an illness which
I must surely perish of.
No truth is plainer than this.

-r. miller

10/4/17

Standard

Certainly, a show of spectacular
oracle forgery flowing stealthily
into plain debauchery as a moment dislocates
its content, is least of all
what one would call “simplicity.”
Behind these plastic walls
hide a host of sleazy eccentricities
I’m ill-disposed to ignore, but
that’s just what I’m doing, presuming instead
to pick apart my glue-encrusted thesis
piece by piece until the underlying nothing
is revealed at last and swells
to a proportion monstrous and disconcerting.
What I do with my own hurting
is my own business, thanks, and if the cranking
of its desperate gears is grating or offensive
to more delicate constitutions,
I wouldn’t have it any other way.

-r. miller

9/29/17

Standard

A presumption of crush
we intersect with diligence,
figures uplifted, fracture holding.
Too up in arms for a fragrant lust.
Mistrust assuming the posture
of an accident in progress.
Some time where no synapse speaks
of its own power to construct.
Us we form by reticence, by
fingers hot with touch.
Deja vu everywhere,
it sits in kindness and fat
and spares naught.
The look… Unfolding itself,
uprooting all calculation
with a threatening sense of purpose.

-r. miller

9/20/17

Standard

a distinct aversion
to blank we in
absolving backlash
dismantled crux
absorbing the thoroughfare
for want must
needs impertinence
of gesture web
though altogether
signed off
on the negation
so it came by cutting
insofar as rut befits
the tender equipage
of what lust permits
in my palm the sighs

-r. miller