Personal Poem, 8/21/2015

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What a marvelous failure I’ve become
since I decided to stick a heartbeat
in the universe’s craw.
All righteous and jellylike
in my singular desire, which is
to design my own narrative process.
Here’s a procession
of angry sensations,
all shouting for higher wages
and a chicken in every pot-smoker.
Which is how I came
to find myself here:
a marvelous failure
in an even more marvelous swamp.

-r. miller

Inside Out (Under/Over)

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Interior Shot:

some white kid screaming,
blood dripping like candle wax, beaming like solar flares,
walls turning to centipedes, congealing, TV screen purple 
like staccato breathing – separate from reality – and i’m screaming,

and i’m alone again, alone again,
saying hello to old demons again,
climbing picket fences past my interior defenses again;

no man’s land,
no hand to grasp,
no oxygen or nicotine,
no sleep,
no inhaling gasp;

just an eternal exhale;

forever is a
wall-sized locust with bleeding eye sockets and foam at the mouth;

i’m screaming but there’s no sound,
and the sinister solipsistic corner of the diagram secretes
cyanide and forgotten sins into my synapses,
synergistic with black energy as time becomes a bitter energy drink synonymous with a prolapsed lung,

and everything makes sense again
in all the wrong ways;

go away go away go away

i don’t need line breaks or rhymes or time signatures or contradictory statements i’m here i’m bleeding i’m screaming car tires screeching in a non-existent distant parking lot and i’m smoking till i can’t see straight drinking till i can’t think straight silent till i can’t breathe anymore.

Exterior shot:

a man smoke’s alone,
writing nonsense.

Willie Watt
8.26.15 

Rock.

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Greasy fingers,
but I just washed my hands.

Rumpled poster edge,
but I just sanded the corners
of my verisimilitude.

Hot tea and shisha
advocating chloroplast,
but photosynthesis doesn’t need a marketing campaign
to stay in business.

I miss you already,
and I swear that isn’t a 

non-sequitur.

Willie Watt
8.26.15 

Not Fade Away

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You’re both pirate seekers on a drifting piece of wood fashioned into a canoe with machine men surrounding you in an artificial waterworld.

The south’s heat drawls in on the expensive restaurant lining the ridges of the walkway.

Birds chirp, cannons blare, a sparrow dressed like that undying rockstar sings about having the silver.

The honey jacks running slim as the canoe careens downwards into a spiral jetty the source of which in this swirl and whirl are actually those heart of the ocean blue specter eyes of hers.

The canoe passes a marooned animatronic man resembling your features.

Bearded and crazed he bellows about this island he calls in his name with his fortress crafted in bricks of moss.

He speaks with pride of his unsustainable mass but lowers his voice to a hush regarding a wave in the shape of a woman that nicked the northern end of the wall.

And how he wished it would’ve taken it all down.

The ride halts in a tar pit and the Reality Center points its cameras every which way making crude announcements that you both assume are meant for you.

Suddenly, you are locked backwards in that home housing 1,000 horrors .

An unending pile of laundry is stacked in your doorway.

Yesterday’s futures rub there sandpaper grips on your neck.

All the fears run emptily through the vacant kitchen

Voices, promises and words hastily rushed to print from previous published editions are present.

In a time-lapse that all fades, some of it gently and swiftly, other bits with more effort.

But not this.

Never that day or any day that contains too much ice cream and chicken tenders, being splashed on mountains together, chasing sunsets, and being carried in the saving unending embers of those fireworks.

Never, ever let that fade

Experiment (contrivance killed the cat)

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Bottomless verbosity

verbalizing 
nothing that was ever intended.

Chicken scratch

caricatures
of pains left completely unmended,

and ideas
improperly expressed.

Ink stains
produced under the duress
of life-shaped

bullet holes;

pigeon-holed artists
replicating
plasticized versions of

synaptic perfection.

Expression always – always – more
expensive 
than the price of

admission.

Willie Watt
8.24.15

Masses

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Masses

r. miller reading “What Matters is What You Leave Out”

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