8.10.18

Comfort breeds contempt
like nobody’s business.
That’s not why I’m bidding you
goodbye this gruesome day,
and I’d prefer not to talk about it,
so fuck you and warmest regards.
I’ve got to get my splinters in order,
check the thermostat
for signs of infection.
This ballpoint pen is a rather
invasive truth to be coping with
so early in the afternoon, I think, so
with that, I cast it to the fires
my dislocated youth left burning.
Only, the flames will be weak blue
when they peak, and my former truths
like so much diffused smoke.

-r. miller

7.30.18

Time for a swallow
of orange-flavored fortitude.
I’ll leave this withering attitude
at my feet, avoid it for the time being.
It’s never easy seeing myself like this,
belly up in a boiling sea of scrawl.
Sooner or later, the waters
will tickle my throat. But
I shall not drown, for I am liquid.
Today quickens and second-guesses
array themselves on the fringes.
The planet’s pulse puts forth
a waltz only the downtrodden can step to.
No complaint issues from my pen.
Call me companionable,
but don’t. Really.

-r. miller

7.25.18

Astonishing dialogue, and afterwards
a weeping that follows no known code
or pattern. The limits of your eyes
surprise me with their conclusions.
There’s talk of collusion
in the halls of horror our frantic days
constructed just to suit them better.
It’s getting wetter as the hours spread
and for once, I yield to the sleepy chaos
welling steadily within my guts.

-r. miller

7.23.18

Spun on histrionics,
a holy fuck of a situation.
Lately, I’ve taken up landscaping
as a means of easing
the pangs of solitude
I’m stuck coping with.
Upon a sick and sloping canvas,
I insert harsh, habitual lust.
Now I must be getting belligerent.
Because my reasons
leash me surreptitiously
to the spectacle.
The let-down
we’ve all been searching for.

-r. miller

7.20.18

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

7.18.18

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

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

7.9.18

Heads up:
the signifiers are getting fidgety.
Perception has ceased
its once eager flow, creating
a less than desirable stasis.
Makeshift beds collapse readily
at the first stirrings of morning.
I bide my time wordlessly,
entranced by the silence
and all that it contains.

-r. miller

7.6.18

Beaten to a fault,
possibility ruptures.
A disruptive fragrance
spreads throughout the gears.
All ears fill with static.
I’ve ridden this wave
of erratic behavior
farther than I had any right to.
Now that night is closing in,
I suppose it’s time I pay my dues.

-r. miller