Hot damn,
I’m a little fuck mango.
If it please the court,
I have this generous handful
of indeterminate pills.
That’s not a thought that’s soot.
Like wage I war
with endless cost-of-living.
Surmise me or don’t. Prophecy already.
Go ahead and get shifted in the solar plexus,
but leave the driving to grandma.
You can’t skydive.
I miss the human truth of your smile,
and miles upon miles
wiggle their cans
out of the darkness we regurgitate.
-r. miller
Tag: poetry blog
‘Tis the Season
It’s cool to be totally lacking in hope.
Fool me once, you know,
but fool me twice, and it’s orgasmic.
Sliding up and down the grayscale
brings the pleasure of a lifetime,
lays it mangled at your craggy feet,
saying ‘Ain’t it nifty?’
Thoughts range from air purifiers
to overdoses to gay space communism.
Without a working definition,
one could achieve complete self-mastery.
Has thou considered
the web of mystery contained
within the gleaming eyes of a doll?
I sure haven’t, but then again,
I’ve lost all things to consider.
-r. miller
Cry Winter
Going into glisten,
night-blended of course,
and in shock.
We’ll have a smooth one,
on clock sputtering,
spiffy weird conundrum.
Spies in flashlight,
dehydrated yet awash,
cry winter.
In totality blister interest
ceding nothing further
to the cause.
I let my blink aloft
on swoop of wind.
I love once by word,
so it seems.
Onyx canopy drenched in dream,
sliding at last in contradiction.
-r. miller
A’Wassailing
I want us to imagine
the cosmos as a suppository.
Supposing your predictions fill with blood,
will you then assert
the supremacy of the wiggle?
Get off my mojo, personification of Dunning-Kruger.
I still believe in Santa, after all,
and that means most of us are fucked.
I still believe my conscience is a trained octopus,
and my will is good, yeah-eah-eah yeeeeeeeeeeah.
Stone the way with orthopedic insoles.
This isn’t meant to console you.
-r. miller
But Just Listen
So I got caught up
in a radiant red belch bursting
from oblivion’s canker riddled maw
under its muff I felt the true
sting of progress what
else hypes you up like that my love
is a turbine engine on a murder spree
which is to say it’s only you
and me from here on out kid
please don’t shame me for the way
my hips coagulate you walk
your own damn walk
the pilot light up and dumps
then sprints to the mythical jersey shore
patternless pattern of excitement
all night long we get wasted
on juniper spew waist-deep
in underdog sweat
-r. miller
These Tremblings
Stand and be glad of the wet.
The happening heart in all extremes
carols high and haughty,
hot with wintry fervor.
See we unclasp these tremblings
and O sweet nectar laves.
The joyous decibels disseminate
through cold and night.
Face to face, pulse to pulse, light to light,
we couple so generously and right.
-r. miller
In Time We Learn to Measure
All in sudden,
a word falters,
a word shakes,
flimsy bough.
You see neither
how nor why,
the eye busy
with disapproval.
Given the circumstance,
given the reflection.
In time, we learn to measure.
The gap between fingers
seen to gradually increase
as minutes flush.
The silence between lovers
heard to gradually increase
as the moment grows taut.
Rain taps the asphalt impatiently
as the light between days
is seen gradually to die.
-r. miller
Just Some Thoughts
There’s just no getting through to me.
Leave whatever mark suits your taste,
be it bold or blasphemous,
beguiling or cruel.
It doesn’t matter what I used to think.
I used to think purely in color.
I could just keep score.
We all have more sun in our eyes
than we give ourselves credit for.
So why am I moved only by decadence?
Tell me, is that defiance knocking
against my brittle ribs?
Biopolitics is the new black.
Minutes quicken, impulses thicken.
One last raid on the jargon bin.
-r. miller
Make It New, I Guess
It’s vitally important that we regurgitate.
The wait is long, the wait is over,
the wait spreads over the shoulder.
Indentured, we watch
as the final tooth withers.
Is there any conceivable way
to make this sexual?
Day by day, I’m learning how
to decontextualize myself.
Plebs are needed.
When did the foreground
get so out-of-focus?
Is there a smudge on the lens?
What festivals of atonement
will we have to invent?
Found text, found meaning.
Professional confessional.
Discourse on the half-shell.
-r. miller
Life Picked Clean
I’m no longer certain
that the ground will hold.
Evidence flocks.
Sunken perimeter.
I swallow biography whole,
life picked clean by gut flora.
In this instance,
we are but incidents.
This isn’t a test,
but a trap.
Clap once for yes,
twice for help.
Gaze thwarted by cold introspection,
colder snows.
What if the mind
is merely a function?
Adjunct disjunct.
Connective tissue.
The reissue comes at first in waves
before tapering to a ripple.
One good pogrom
deserves another.
-r. miller
*Insert Propaganda Here* 