RC Miller

five poems

Happy Bank Day

The alien niche
That can own
Watches something suffer
Through my thoughts upon suffering
And then I puff
A kidney’s four yawns
Making myself the whiplash
Where the body is interlaced
An opal crib of trifling doubles
For demons not wattage
And there they glow
Diverting the night like wind
In or spiting pampered clover
Winded in a scene of panhandlers
Many as children my noodles may afford
All bound and money friendly
O God we shroud the wrong digits
And hustling fog
The choices move necessarily to comfort
A pamphlet against conductive thrills
As you whimper
I am ready to settle
I’ll repay you on a score
Submitting the mannered and scripted
Sources of wiped happiness
That soon we’ll be stuffed with.

You Must Find Another

Humbled by the hate
Arresting nauseous planets,
I’m sorry you are cloaked
And will never be mined.

Seven cigarettes bide my gums
Tipped bites of cheek and then hooves pack
Raw egg fishing shacks
Betting the rind is sensual.

Deprived a roof our hose films a tower
Murmuring the hashed descent.
The tower percolates a mammoth
Parade of voluptuous addicts
Searing wrappers for our discounted props.

Some are a daybreak derangement from what I eat to tread.
Some was what you ate with toast.
And you are silly about what I ate while bait.
As today you is in limbo
Eating my ashes in the quandary of tomorrow.

Shit So Toy

Drained from its talk
A hillside rabbits toward the patter
Of aggressive windows bannered with leaps
Freed into idols splayed snout first.

The summer fawns
Glove an organ neatly razored.
And by the mow our jetty domes
Beneath hissing pallets soon extracted.

In practically dew
I swallow you
A queasy dip of mantis and hedge
Dreaming no light ever ruptured.

I’m jogged like everything else
Alone in rules of long before.
But your hips revive so much
Warming my thighs their eased seduction.

And just because it’s here we boom,
It doesn’t mean that we must live
A tuck or rather as vain splinters
Rousing most ourselves worn moist.

Heavy As Things Are Fleshed

Surfaced ripples of width
Intend another day.
Bones thrown where they belong
Disintegrate all the same.

I follow your skin
Feeling us for home.
You refuse me.
You refuse me nothing.

Our soul is the clay
Mending a vision after it funds
The chatter of other worlds and maps of horror
Our debt shall bring.

In time an eyeless mammal
Greases the frantic pavement
With our scorn
Clothed a treason because it whines.

O wrathful moon of solid bat,
My master licks the tickle of his stormy complication.
O solid bat moon of warped sunset,
My master won’t live through centuries lubricated.

I am followed everywhere I wane,
Breathless in rebirth
And broken to save
Violets for your tan.


I’m dying bugged if also quite simply.
My gold already was a substance mulched
For the loan of one grid
Daring the passion hunted animals mentor.

Singing our grace had in malls
And a split with gentle mates,
Of plump
My genitals wave hamburger space.

And I envy those odors
Loathing lactic stars,
Edible when your lover knocks
Bipolar on principle.

While lovely his noggin competes to rage
In spirals the condemned expect without,
You forage instead the pattied no joint of cram
And forget who I hurt and redistribute.

Where dots and vultures meet,
These beams from my decree
Sling a sleet
Claiming its empire is as useful
As flyspunk on acid drops

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