a world with wounds
wide open

opinions like/bullets

virtual breaths

a portrayal of
everything but
the intestines

filtered/to find
the sultry light.

nothing else fits

like bone to bone

virtual heart to
virtual bed/room.

downloading love
with an endless


Dispatches from: The Producers Meeting for the VR Version of Mad Max

She’s dreaming of an electric fuhrer

You’re swearing it’s a soundstage.  just a soundstage

Somewhere in here. someone will screw it up. it’ll be a quick tilt pan and you’ll knock over the green screen

Never ever sung at a high key

You’re in orlando and:

you’re dictating emergency laws

“color blind and gender neutral”.

A government unworthy to lead.

Critic and Cynic.

That’s what they’ll call you when you stand in the way of their White Optimism.

Probably the first and second time he’s ever said LGBTQ.

His total lifetime tally will only be those few times he ever does actually say it in a speech. It’ll tally under 60 but nowhere above 56.

You just witnessed inclusivity being co-opted. A fake moral obligation to your LGBTQ friends and family.

You just witnessed someone laying a ground plan for how to start another world war.

“We don’t want them in our country,” he says to applause.

You’re swearing it can’t happen here. That dark age that was predicted neglected and abandoned by the men trying to do this all once upon a wonder under a table with an 18 minute gap.

Law and Order

You swear you hear a ping.

But he says he hears your voice.

He says it after while. After just talking about stuff he’s just pissed about.

And then everyone else just shouting back with him occasionally hopping in  “USA” “USA” USA” and it feels as he waits for them to stop that he’s expecting that Law and Order now.

Did he think he’d ever see this?

Maybe that one time in a coke filled rum den somewhere off lower chelsea back in the 90s.

The way he talks about police. The way he talks about injustice and no sympathy with the leaders who fail their citizens.

Talking about enemies the way the Sopranos do…

Is this happening here? Are you actually reading this and is it actually something that had to be written down because it’s happening here?

Is she just swallowing that can with that thing called DEMOCRACY? 

The man from Chicago just heard his legacy by namesake being promised to be torn apart.

Did this actually happen?

Are we going to double backwards because “damn, dude do you remember when that ALMOST happened?” is gonna be something repeated for generations and generations every summer and oh my mother loving trickle top ended dick did he just throw in a bone to Bernie people?  yeah shit, those generations stoned out of their minds actually feeling that call back to a history that almost happened and they’ll get it and get it the way Germany finally fucking did afterwards and is that as good an example as you can come up with?

Will we get it, now, once and for all, here next summer because it almost happened here?

These are the facts plainly and honestly because we don’t have time to be Politically Correct

Law and Order, believe me he says again and again.

Is he plagiarizing the show? Or the Stallone Dredd film?

Or both?

No lies, honor the american people with the truth and nothing else.

nothing even close. That viciousness and the spitting. 

the Latino ones.

Maybe that explains Cruz and Rubio? And how he treated them?

That wall. it’s a tangible form of legacy. something absolute. god how he fucking must hate us.

“On January 20th of 2017”, he says to a laugh in a quiet room. “The American people will finally wake up to a country where the laws of the united states are enforced.”

maybe this is why people choose dumb entertainment sometimes. maybe its why sometimes the best thing you can do is choose “smart” entertainment even if it never changes “anything” per se its still keeping everyone who is lookin’ at it In The Present Moment. and just being aware is a lot more than most people can deal with. and that matters a lot more because you guys can tell what’s real because she surrounds you with fireworks on both ends of the city with grape beers and daisy laced smiles in the sparkl and makes you feel the way you always thought it would feel.

he says something about making our country rich again which makes you think of scrooge but then you aren’t listening anymore.

and then yeah of course you hear someone saying you can’t always get what you want with confetti falling and a paper background sunset to crash through right up ahead of the both of you.

Sur La Plage

She in the eyes of wine.
A castle of sand rose
sur la plage.
We went sauntering into…
A dribbling scarab for a moon.
There were moments
where she’d swear and swoon…
The blades of habit crashing…
Clashing… Sur la plage.
Et les neiges de mon âme
ont apporté avec eux
des vents sauvages.
We feasted at dawn.
Sweet, unripe flesh.

-r. miller

How to Win in Rocket League

  1. Grab some friends and don matching top hats and waffle antennae for camaraderie.
  2. Lose—hard—when your camaraderie slams face-first against a wall of actual skill.
  3. Ditch your friends—they were only holding back the god inside you.
  4. Keep playing after a win. Ride the streak to glory.
  5. Keep playing after a loss. Ending on a loss is bad for morale.
  6. Keep playing after you’ve watched the sunrise out of the corner of your eye on a Tuesday morning.
  7. Keep playing after your teammate tells you to “kill yourself you piece of shit you’re terrible.”
  8. Avoid windows and light bulbs when throwing your controller across the room.
  9. Learn the art of misdirection. Hand the blame off to your teammates, network issues, your controller, the alignment of Jupiter and Venus.
  10. Tame the rat that claws your insides after every point given away.
  11. Celebrate every win like finding a quarter on the sidewalk.
  12. Feel every loss like your family was slaughtered in front of you with a machete.
  13. You have to want it good god you have to fucking want it more than you hate those bags under eyes more than you hate your beer gut more than you hate hearing your boss’s voice bring you back to earth this is your last chance all those pinches on your childhood cheek all those gold stars they have to mean something you were a smart cookie you can do anything you put your mind to they said you have value you have value you have value
  14. Remember to have fun. It’s just a game.

Letter to Istanbul

And there you were,
teaching me the strange
names and peculiar weave
of your nation’s frayed and
radiant tapestry;

Mélange of language
painting the scarlet story,
undertones of black
division and aurulent
complements of someday’s hope;

There you were,
your cigarette waving
dangerously close
to your wild bronze curls,
coffee spoon balanced
on the white rim
of your sugar-laced cup,

a frenzy of passion and
blood-stained philosophies,
the unmistakable anomaly
and unusual grace of your brow
a landmark on the grey
provincial landscape;

There you were,
yesterday or perhaps
I am mistaken-

and now in the dreadful
lapse of uncertain hours
I’m begging every God
I ever spurned
to cast their wing over
your young lion’s heart.

Send news soon
of where this night finds you.
The earth as I know it
could never withstand
the grievous absence of
your luminescent soul.


Road Warrior

smoked a joint in Colorado Springs,

whiskey and gin on an L.A. beach,

drove a couple thousand miles 
in someone else’s car, but it

wasn’t yours and neither was the joint or the beach
or the whiskey or the company.

drove someone else’s car
through cornfields of rubber shrapnel
discarded atop the freeway’s lovehandles
by bad luck
entropy’s grin.

drank the bourbon of
original sin
didn’t believe a word of my own rhetoric.

High-definition epiphanies rolled
past the open window
24 frames a second,

and I
must’ve disrupted the revelry a hundred times by checking Facebook
to see if you had
liked my status;

the pathetic byproduct
of interconnected irrelevance,

I guess.

And there’s a
couple girls I could
fuck back in Houston, and

maybe one at Austin City Limits, but I

was ankle-deep in the pacific for the very first time, and honey,
distance makes all the difference
the world.

Vision distorted and dismissive;

life’s a bitch
and she’s
in a seductive position, trying

to convince me
she’s worth impregnating, re-creating,

despite all the evidence 
to the 

Finality waiting with
open arms, and

I guess

we only write songs
for the lies we
to make real.

Willie Watt

In the Passage Toward the Light

We view each case with avid interest,
as they leap from darkened furrows
into clean, poignant light.
Trees in heat dropping wretched fruit
to the ground.
The sound of revelry dying in the street.
We treat ourselves to levity,
and the brevity of our project
falls into our laps. One
snaps photographs with her phone.
Another communicates
a fear of loneliness.
I roll my tongue across my teeth,
feet bitten by shards of glass
in the passage toward the light.
Once, I might have preferred
to find a damp, unseemly place
where I could hang my head,
a place abounding
in dead letters and shame,
cold blood and the names
of towns I’ll never see.
A green fog floods the brain tunnel,
bringing funnels of perversity
and rain on every corner,
where mourners mass in madness.
We, in unison, wring
feral grins from our lips,
slipping undetected into grace
to drown beneath the light.

-r. miller