12.13.17

Standard

What it’s doing to me
the lifting fragrance foretells
not a kind of doom
but a kind of kiss
and that’s the bliss of becoming
the essence essentially
backing out of the contract last minute
recesses turned dark by December
with trembling fingers
grasping the knot without knowing
and groping my hindsight
like I even give a damn

-r. miller

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12.11.17

Standard

In the wind, swaying

but with less vigor than

you presupposed, it is the weak

fainting motion of your thoughts

that truly captivates. Now,

we must admit to being

less than before

in a time of violin music

and straw-bearing hearts.

Secrets pour through

the dazed eyes of a city

at night. Snow goes

gray and tussles

with the half-baked wind.

-r. miller

12.8.17

Standard

Really, I could be
more interesting if I tried.
And more interested,
but that’s a problem
for another week.
I don’t speak so coherently lately,
that’s for you to decide,
and the color red
gives me the shakes.
Now discerning the aroma
of fried brains in the hall…
A scraping coming from the wall…
How shall I get on
with things anymore?
A newer, sinister mood
is coming up with the sun,
casting a heavy cloth
over my watery eyes.

-r. miller

12/6/17

Standard

Something slipped casually
in the drink offers up
a fresh interpretation
of the surrounding space.
Suddenly, one’s eyes are filled
with keen intensity as they move
from left to right, taking in
the new mood emanating
from the previously familiar scene.
I don’t think it looks as good
in this particular green, but I take solace
in knowing my opinion
is of no importance
to the wishy-washy populace,
who cradle their heads despondently
in their laps and never bother
with the static in which
their existence is shrouded.

-r. miller

In words we understand

Standard

The text has unfolded its intent,
spread it over the dry grass to bask
in the arid sense of wanting
to be elsewhere. The chapters
have charted a course for an obscure star.
You mull over the typeface index,
searching for an attractive way
to present a harsh but well-intentioned truth.
Like a tooth falls the moon
and its accoutrements, but the day
comes on darker than stained glass.
Your mouth is in no shape
for carrying graven images, golden calves
of commerce and oblivion.
Sometimes, it’s necessary to add water.
Sometimes, it’s necessary to make
dense predictions about the weather.
Still, when push comes to shove,
the tensile strength of the tether
makes all the difference.

-r. miller

What else can I say?

Standard

There’s nothing more
I can contribute.
I’ve dried up in the sullen air
of this forgetful valley.
I probably look like
I could use a decent feeding.
Archaic deities are busy kneading
my brain into shapes
I barely recognize,
and my eyes have decided
to try on a shade of red
for the 2:00 lull. Funny,
yesterday I felt so full
of whatever they call “feeling”
that I could barely lift my body
to its various projects.
Now, I’m merely one object
among the others,
a cohesive chunk of particles
slowly fusing to the floor.

-r. miller

11.27.17

Standard

On the surface, pills to gather,
a certain shade of mockery.
I plummet starving to wintry depths.
I in my might disclosing whims.

Whispers on the backtrack beat
sudden snow and polygons.
Delouse the forgeries
replete with best intentions
and the gullet bursts.

Sonatas, corpus, grafting.

My bothered blood lifting me…
Le sourire d’une saison morte.

-r. miller