6/28/17

Standard

In a less restrictive way,
I tie a knot around
the throbbing cosmos.
Suddenly, an influx of light
from a star which died
in a century past illuminates
the interior of my skull,
haphazardly, but not without
a rustic sort of charm.
Following the catastrophe,
no traces of civilized life remain.
Painful though it is, I scatter the ashes
of my former incarnation
over the dirt. The hurt intensifies
until it pops like a blister
soaked in warm water.
I mopĀ up the excess spillage
and blow a kiss to the earth,
somewhat assured
that whatever is happening
was meant to happen.
A ringing punctuates the silence.
I feel foolish now for feeling the way that I feel,
unreal, dealing with dissonance
in the digital age. Now, I fritter away
in the awkward summer daze,
sipping herbal tea, and coughing up
clusters of marijuana smoke.

-r. miller

6/23/17

Standard

Let this spectacle reveal to you
your untold depths.
Unfolding, breath by labored breath,
fanning out across this span
of crumbling marble and dry foliage.
It speaks in a language
you can’t rightly decipher,
but which seeps into your bones
and cools them, overtakes your bones
and rules them. This heap of broken images…
Are they really all that broken?
Perhaps they can be repurposed, reassembled.
Perhaps their apparent brokenness
is due simply to an insufficiency in seeing.
Perhaps they aren’t images at all,
but music, rich and flowing.
A new age of consequence is dawning,
laying thick ropes of light across this span
of crumbling marble and dry foliage,
and in that light, your flesh
goes gray, numb and unwieldy.
Something too heavy to move.

-r. miller

6/21/17

Standard

… It happened there, by the river,
forceful waters pushing forward,

it happened by the river,

beneath a sky of impenetrable blue,
the city skyline like a row of broken teeth,

it happened by the river,

it was in the papers, all of the papers,
the story was told and told again,

it happened by the river,

six somber shadows washed up
and found rest on the shore,

six charred carcasses mistaken for sleepers…

-r. miller

6/16/17

Standard

For clear air’s sake.
A pocket of rock.
There it lay.
But if rains.
And if dumb slumber.
Soft descending.
Look at the inside.
A bath of vice.
Moth dust and paper flakes.
Like sinews each act tethers.
The true pure.
Accidental.
Suck the juice.
Unlearn.

-r. miller

6/14/17

Standard

How late we were expected
and in rusty chimes.
Fingers – thusly – in his craw –
fatten and fatten.

My persona is limitless
and my hunger, encompassing.

Strange notes in the air tonight.
Soon the call erupts,
we’ve forgotten the scars
the money made.

Cold infantile grins –
hewn with – less than – precision.

-r. miller

 

6/12/17

Standard

Learning to live.
To live without.
Live without wisdom.
Without wisdom, mourning.

Wisdom mourning shadow.
Mourning shadow hands.
Shadow hands passing.
Hands passing tokens.

Passing tokens of.
Tokens of obscurity.
Of obscurity, whispered.

Obscurity whispered menacingly.
Whispered menacingly “Doubt.”
Menacingly, doubt looms.

-r. miller

6/9/17

Standard

It’s 3:50AM and I have about
ten more minutes to get a poem
down on paper but I don’t think
that’ll happen me being uninspired
and frustrated like this so I guess
this is it and the TV is on but nobody
is watching everything is sleeping
but me and I’d like to be sleeping
because then I wouldn’t have to
worry about writing this fucking poem
that doesn’t seem to want to be
written so on that note I’ll think
about sleeping just sleeping
and not writing because it’s all I can do.

-r. miller