5/15/17

Standard

During the time of peacock failures
and soggy plums, a tantric wind
came a-hummin’ through the ‘burbs.
Faces lit like midday fireworks.
Skins were packed with lumps.
I was busy bumping and grinding
my way to a doctorate in decor,
but I heard this third-hand,
that the streets were marble lather,
that a gathering of the minds was taking place,
taking up space in a parking garage.
Some among them maintained
that all hitherto existing fiction
was as spilled milk upon a china plate
in the wake of this event. Others
gnawed on toadstools just to keep
from going mad. Meanwhile,
the wind kept a-buzzin’ and breaking
up the peace of the humdrum scene
we’d come to refer to as a Home.
Honestly, home didn’t stand a chance.
So the dance persists…

-r miller

5/12/17

Standard

You and your discrepancies…
Caring is optional.
My dispossessed courage leaves in rags,
the tatters of teeth.
You expectant, beneath a dumb sun,
tired whispers, but
how does your garden grope?
I’ve got twelve feet of rope
with your name on it.
Though I can’t recall your face.

-r. miller

5/10/17

Standard

We went to withers,
gathering what salts
and leather masks.
The tasks we packed
in baskets. Then
shoveled out.
It was a winter burst
bled into bother,
coddled like Christmas,
and accidentally more trite.
Night stuck to the ducts.
But we did this clever,
cleaving to a cloven hoof.
Sent every last roof
into a razing! And
when the hazing
harkened to our
surreptitious spelling,
we cut the quick
and blinked back the bells.

-r. miller

5/4/17

Standard

Now for a more lucrative pinch.
Cinch the waste a little bit,
you get the picture.
Whiskers the day.
Sharpening by seizure.
She nutters. Declares me
anomie of the state,
and percolates by measure.
Though… Off-base, admittedly,
most assuredly, most bitterly,
on fleek. Next stop
is the weekend.

-r. miller

Standard

Alright, here’s where I become
an understatement.
Understanding, in its purest sense,
is a fine hat to wear.
A bit more breeze, please,
and your knees get rusty,
you thrust emphatic fingers toward
a warm and squishy sky.
How utterly motivated!
I felt abated by the hazardous course
of our sex life. Gloves, strife,
and candy sweet promises, now
a little more ambiguous.
Gratuitous you say? I say fuck.

-r. miller

4/15/17

Standard

I have this itch
I’ve been meaning to tell you about.
So yeah, it goes without saying.
The emperor’s new sandwich,
have you heard?
lapdogs of eternity.
Something moves the rain,
though it’s optional.
Peace to the unkempt and the over-bored.
Life? At this ungodly hour?
That’s what I’ve been hearing anyway,
all the gossip columns
having been toppled
by Hurricane Jeff and his trusty six-string.
Congrats on being smothered by erudition.
These pretzels are making me thirsty.

-r. miller

4/12/17

Standard

There was something in the way…
Light or varied ephemera
or a sonata or other(ness).
Nowhere, we bothered the infinite.
Placed doubts discreetly
and played with our hair.
We were all out of caring,
cluttered and clattering.
From the stairwell, a murmuring…

She departed
with a handful of rust,
bad intentions trailing her gown.

-r. miller