the poetry that matters

RC Miller

RC Miller was born in Parkersburg, WV, and currently lives in Astoria, NY. He is the author of the chapbook 'Animal Returns' and recent work appears in Brain Box, 63 Channels, Kill Poet, and The Osprey Journal.

Six armed emanations
Fondle your g-spot
Dimly as crass
Views of a peat
Twice stunned the car bounced
Church of palm worms twisted weird
Wish to dupe
A biased rubdown of ribbed flashbacks
Filing objects I glisten and throne,
Objects compelled into servicing
The multiheaded union of auxiliary gods
Boom bestowing
Your health and offering protective
Dances on the illusion of my corpse
Cutting away in the stillness
Our charades from which the purified are reborn
To save all sentient beings
An eyeball on top of an eyebrow.
Faint vanilla of junta shears my baby shiver.
O snores
I'm proof of the black heart congestion.
His explicit lesbian photographs
Are stacked high where I lie
If sideburns apprehend my pock hard sty.
Soaking the sections a spleen has sipped
The livers droop unlit,
Pissing into my baby a diversity of troops.
O I'm proof of the necktie sulk nipping nude cupcakes.
And rinsing the heretics with a gummy feast,
Lunar biennials don't zip grit wrong.
Our fat spats in Iraq
Surely stool a democracy scratching
The umbilical scars of presidential candidates
Slayed at Holiday Inns.
O whores!
How I wish I were taller or serrated
Or pronounced your grim pendulum
Strangling to dust the flipped yak feet.
Pets escort our panic of movement often illogically.
Fugitive globs wait blindfolded to stub us porno science.
I believe in tight fun not the marriage.
You promise to shower my hover
A tangle in the art of static smothering.
Pressing our hilarity some sleeves,
Semi-boneless heads on packed platforms play pocket pool.
Their secretion of populations wins a game of accusations
Helping ugly folk ponder sex since 2001.
All the clutter disposed
Is others reeling the sermons much faster.
Thuds bail him out and let me peak.
The tourists believe in puberty for the dead.
Ever so, they'll get older and older
Over time from order to disorder.
I vacate everyone I love
To argue unknowable horizons of gore with a slit challenged race.
Commercials force her to commit suicide.
There's no art in what that does.
If the Bible is right
I wanna dress us up in drag.
And yes Katy
I still cry over self-adhesive objectivity
Reanimating your dude's sister
Spreading her forlorn on a haybail
In the outskirts of Ellendale, North Dakota.
And underfoot groans the shocking
Questions of the final costs of being.
Missing a bottom lip
It eats a bigoted lobster salad.
This is my important message.
There were few skinheads fighting the Civil war.
Near our boogers and wrinkled fries
The Chinese chorus sings
If you want my body and you think I'm sexy come on baby
Let me know.
And in his frontal cavity
Frank hires the Pee-wee Herman dolls,
Yet that spectacle Frank devours Maria's pork like a raptor
Disembowels a bunny.
It's the last temptation.
It's the last too late to say the things to you
You needed me to say.
I cross my legs.
I look at many fatties and not enough gothic goods.
I look for a reason to believe
In Maria dropping Taco Bell out of her mouth,
Feeding the centipedes below Hell.
Katy I know that you are not dead.
Katy I'll miss you when you are dead.
Katy I'm low and never going to be as dead
As the death in I now that you blow.
Acceptance of my abs, a blue
Arthur Dove snail brunch, and 1 goes branch 2,
Branch 3 goes down on branch 4, branch 5 crawls
Under the fence, a Buddha with its eyes on the towered bush,
The busstop crotch of crowds steering deer 1, and deer 2 eats
Deer 3, my ether in fang light, her fangs
Shadow the blended feather shavings, my hand
Is her human shadow back on its own, the hut's tall in the wall
Tempting more snips through the kitchen
Window, I'm library pissing, giraffing light,
I'm meeting the Mumuye in Ric's blood, as natural history his vagina
Ring converts the sheep, a Shiva shadow swirls beside
The building site, the ceilings spear three trunks of the wallpaper
Warped city of whale fin wood, yellow you are all I blur,
No crime, no burger, no bites left skyscraping
The last mosque cock, my last bulb is our balls up your asshole,
And chairs are missing like faded forms,
The outside buys crack, the outsider touches your pincher,
His red center scribbles your feet and self and
Some creepy kids' thickness, it's year 1, it's year 2,
Janice and mirrors and Washington's ahh
Spliced on Pepsi mummified the Larry Michael annihilation.
The end of this
End of gulp ending monarch
Bakes my bog
A simple how and things just be.
Tranquility trots the furry globe
Holy in its disappointing
Sale on television sets
Flavoring the mange of my cigarette.
And insisting your great respect,
The poet kills himself
A panther prowl
As police are present to rank me
A mutually assured destruction
Tossing the scissors asylum.
O Lord I'm thankful
For your rare flamingo tundra
Of carving stations lowering the tart maladies
Jonesing lint loads
Flirting pragmatically with trespassers
So in peace I may sleep, and in peace I may drink, and in peace I may eat,
And in peace I may piss, and in peace I may shit, and in peace I may wake
Like the flared
Tinkerer of a hindsight blood

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