RC Miller


Untitled Collage




Retailer




MOTHS FUCK THE SECOND NIGHT WITH TICKS

Climbers of noble flurry
Exhale their silences
And repent.

The desert is weightless,
Wading it arouses
Trouser bandits.

When tree graffiti glows
Back to dead,
Surveillance ends.

Each way I go
Electricity is delicious,
I'm elbowed.

The desert ends trousers.
Wading through dead
Arouses.


SO SMOLDERS THE 21^st CENTURY

It means a lot to you for me to go
Upstairs to find out when the cub is
Clubbed,
Then go up again either before or after the
Runs and then go
Glop,
That’s the most enlightening beer ad in ages.


ME AND ME IN AUTOPSY

Fisters bake riots aging
A pedicure so chronological and indigenous.

I expect anything high-top sneakers expect, I expect
Blueberry waffles rising from their graves.

Massacre freely a snap of moos on pouch zits.
The meaty gear tainting germs is

Proving smiles that line
A slideshow routine bleaching spankles.


FAKE BAD PRESS

The sacrifice expands to a castanet-sized fishstick.
Once it hemorrhages, all of existence is evil.
Darken my hook with cocoons and cry folders.

A wooded mud missing a pigeon.
Fresh berries, they kiss
Colon cancer while I'm eating my breakfast.


Slug




Untitled Drawing




RC Miller lives in Metuchen, New Jersey. He is author of the chapbooks GORE (Calliope Nerve Media) and A Large Retailer (Ronin Press), and maintains a blog at VISION BLUES.
 
 
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