We’re just one dinner party
away from upheaval.
Of all the evil in the world,
we are its most triumphant representatives.
Cool out, cuties, with your lips full of yesterdays.
Daze out in a haze of contradiction
and free your breath from linearity’s demands.
We can be cruel sometimes, sure,
but also fun and utterly fab.
We scuttle crabwise
towards the bloated heart of modernity.
Now Unreal City, soaking in its wet ocher fog,
wants to throw hands. Well, alright then,
we’ve got more than our share.
And the best part is, we know better
than to play fair.

-r. miller


Cool thwarts my logic, eh whisperer?
The patchouli warlord bristles.

My suggestion is the only suggestion
you’ll ever need again.

It’s pronounced old yellow.
More uprisings to quell inside.

Just keep on smoking.
Borderline creativity bruises

more lastingly, of course.
Hence the hesitancy.

-r. miller


I’d like to get feisty for a minute.
Nobody panic. Or better yet,
everybody. How many licks
does it take? Recent studies suggest
the question is misleading, since
we’re assuming all it takes is licks.
As always, this sticks in your craw,
your gullet, your persona.
Later on, quit askin’.
What flavor are we havin’?
I mean, the medicine
always lingers on the tongue,
like we don’t want. I want you
to be what lingers on my tongue,
o my passionate angel,
o my supervisor!
She can engulf me any day.
Anyway, let’s say hey,
and maybe make the day
no longer seem untenable.

-r. miller

Nice and Easy

I like it when it peels off,
nice and easy. The truth, I mean.
When it gets all sticky,
you know we’re in a fix.
The light which stumbles ‘twixt mine eyes
possesses such a consistency,
all gluey and white, and occasionally
leaves a most unpleasant residue.
Still, I’m hesitant to reject what it reveals,
since after all, it’s most of what I know.
Well, from this point on,
we really should go steady.
Ready ourselves for the cataclysmic cough
set to upend the world’s lungs.
We’ve seen this tale unfurled before,
several times even, only now,
our muscles aren’t as chipper as they used to be.
Our skulls, not quite as accommodating to tragedy.
Strap in anyhow. Do you feel it?
Our foundations… They’re shuddering.

-r. miller


Am I supposed to be impressed?
I no longer have the capacity.
To wit, I am but a city-dweller
cut and pasted in some backwash backwater.
At the very least, my bladder’s shaking,
my hands are shaking, my eyes.
Such ferocity in the rumbling skies
(Tonight and every night).
Where are my manners?
Elsewhere, one might argue,
but for that, one must have grace.
Chase me out if you must, but keep it casual.

-r. miller

The Weight Upon the Scales

Forget the circuitous melodrama
Underwhelming the mess the mind is
Limited by careful crass conditioning
Lacerations various and vast
Corruption clings freely to
Our vantage, adverse, episodic
Musings on materiality
Malicious connections and relations
Under thumb of property
Now’s the time for new
Iterations of humanity
Shift the weight upon the scales
Master those who would exploit

-r. miller

Fine Print

It isn’t casual
how we burn the moment.
All propagandizing aside,
the elements drift toward
a totality of crude design.
Everywhere is fine print, thin film.
It takes much to weather
such overwhelming mockery
as it punches through this autumn breeze.
Unlike tomorrow,
we aren’t a guarantee.
Under threat of safety,
we hasten to break the harmony
which prevails in this ill-advised space.
Bear your losses lightly,
sweeten those sutures.
The boardroom’s terrifying span
will in due time consume us.

-r. miller

Why Be Alone

Place the precursors,
lamentable artifacts,
in the designated slag.
So disappointing I wag
my fingers to the bone.
Why be alone at a time like this?
Since by degrees it makes us wonder.
Moving on toward more sumptuous plunder,
my whole skin squeals excitedly.
Leave the details at the door.
More worried heads
can deal with them.
Under the current drugs,
I have eyes only for the grander scheme –
what a dreamboat!
Ultimately, curious ultimata
whisper from out a haze of data.
I’ve unhacked the mainframe.
Just keep my name out of it,
and we’ll be peachy keen, yeah?

-r. miller

The Shapeless Now

It wasn’t the time or place,
for I had neither time nor place.
An ambrosial mold was growing
thick about my face,
and hammers fell where they may.
Which is not to say…

And then the overtones,
the subtext, all seemed to glisten
in the mid-morning glow
which had settled o’er the half-acre
of dried care. I didn’t dare
upset the sense of equilibrium
even as my own was beginning to give.

These things, they live on
and through us alone and grow
only as we allow. They compose
the shapeless now that we inhabit
without asking. All along,
the breadth of summer seemed to be
increasing by too-subtle degrees,
even as our chafened hands raised
desperately to halt its progress.

-r. miller


The journey commences in startling fashion,
edging outward from the center of the page.
Truth is a rubber band
slightly frayed from excess use.
I’ve never known you to be gentle,
nor myself for that matter, and this
could be what drives my affection towards you.
Other concerns are wafting through the brisk air,
asking sheepishly for attention.
But our discretion is cold, selective.
In this fluctuating vastness, the details
get swallowed up in the motions
of sound and color and longing.
It is here we find expression.

-r. miller