7.20.18

Standard

Too egregious – the words
assume a definite shape in my mouth.
Fucking mental. Get into position,
but do it discreetly. Allow me
to leave my suggestions
in the living frown the world puts on
for company. It’s an act, isn’t it?
I’ve kept up with my stock
of chivalrous gestures just to keep
things fabulous and clenching.
The white noise of prayer
pounds against the window, wrenching
me away from what little dignity
I’ve amassed this past score of years.
I can tone this down, if need be.
Though I’d rather down this tone…

-r. miller

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7.18.18

Standard

O! These tantalizing tics!
Lately, I take my licks
with limited interest.
All but the best keep
their shadows cloistered.
No wonder moisture
is in fashion. I used
to have a passion for this
kind of activity, but now
my fingers don’t make
words as nice as I’ve grown
accustomed to. Personally,
I’d like to try a drier climate,
or a higher altitude. Depends
on which personality
I decide to grow into.

-r. miller

7.16.18

Standard

Soon to be swept away,
the copper filings of conscience,
arranged with sweetness
on the bare edge of the page.
We bask in noon,
the heat wired to our brains.
Songs we learned in misspent youth
return us to that fractured place
where we made our names
from beige and nervous twine
and I note the lines upon my palms,
how deep they have become.
Listlessly, I scan the grooves
for a meaning I can stomach.

-r. miller

7.4.18

Standard

Something dissatisfying
has pummeled summer
into submission. So begins
the latest sleep experiment.
Note the scented candles.
Ditto the urinal cakes.
Ambiguity’s cold breath
leaves its tender stamp
on the situation at hand.
Initially, I’d planned on abandoning
this backwards land at the first
stirring of trouble, yet… Here I am still,
entangled in its wiry, lecherous fingers
like a rosary. Nowhere left to see,
save for a vacant lot or two.
Nowhere left to comfortably
rest one’s head. The evenings
here are but dead weight.

-r. miller