Ode to Agony

lately I’ve been giving the same old lines. like,
“really, I’m good,” and, “everything is fine.” and I get that we fucked
everything up, and we got way out of
line, but
I’ve got a couple renewable vices in the cabinet,
and a bad decision the the bedroom,
but
don’t threaten me with a good time.

and right now I just wish
I wasn’t trapped inside this body.
even though I love this body.
love the things this body
has done,
love the obstacles this body has overcome, like
Icarus kissing a dying crying sun,

and, ya, maybe the game isn’t
zero-sum,
but there’s some correlation
in the current context,
and when history looks back
somebody has to be the one
who won.

so fuck accruing interest,
I’ll take my rightful
penance
in a
lump sum,
then spend the whole
account at once,
and use it to purchase a single
day

where your fragrance doesn’t haunt every vacant corner, these thoughts don’t contradict painstakingly constructed self-images, these headaches don’t make me want to blow my brains all over the porcelain, your words don’t echo between my ears like memories of slit wrists and silent nighttimes, these nightmares don’t come for me in my weakest moments and bring me to my knees over and over and over again, these hellish visions of failed infinity don’t rape me during every dissociative moment, these crippling doubts don’t rob me of everything I thought I believed in, these cogs of entropy don’t slowly kill me like a nicotine addiction, these one-night stands don’t cause me to wake up in cold sweats wishing you were here to calm the songs of agony, this slowburn madness doesn’t take me to brimstone riversides and waterboard me every fucking day, this pain in my head my eyes my tear-ducts my hands my stomach my heart my heart my heart would just stop, these sirens would stop sounding in my head, these car tires would stop churning in my head, this liquor would stop burning in my head, you would stop fucking your husband in my head, your god would stop pretending to exist in my head…

fuck existential dread,
I would murder every relativistic concept,

if I could just put this somatic agony
to bed;

and I would 
feel
no remorse

at all.

Willie Watt
12.5.16

My heart is a grease trap

so it seems
a passing by storms
(turnabout)
to cast our minds in clay
next day
surmount molecular fiefdom
my life a puck of kief
and other nefarious
I turn to sleet
eye in the I
left/discussions
of privacy led nowhere
but back into themselves
and we ran the race
but won
it’s like a fraction
or a psalm
it’s like a mummy
chasing ribbons
of pure faultless
(symmetrical)
galvanized woe

-r. miller

ego.

i am the moonside revery
    of your faintest dreams
  scarlet anthems of amaranthine passion
       fathomed in untouchable
                                         drunken delirium.

   i am your midnight clandestine
      vertiginous whispers of bedsheets
   and swansong,
      
      the anathema haunting the halls
                                         of your inverted sanitarium.

       i am the crooked dark
          edging over your body,
   the slender echo of your fingers
              on the lowest ebony key

   the love notes

                                        slipped between the letters.

          i am her
             broken clasp
          tarnished on the nightstand,

            the red lines raked across your back

         and

                  the cracked fingernail

          dug too deep
                  into your

                                        aphotic ecstasy.

oh, nothing. are you okay?

1.
there are journeys
beneath my finger/nails.

2.
i scrape the bottom
of the barrel (to find words.)

3.
your ears are full (of termites.)

4.
we haven’t decided (if this is good.)

5.
someone just told me i look like tom waits

6.
your borrowed clothing
loose on your shoulders.

7.
everything is a mirror.

8.
no one looks inside.

9.
they sold a pocket microscope at the store.

10.
these numbers are growing.

11.
i watch the pot.

12.
we boil

13.
over.

Eye

there is movement. explosive noise outside the window. i keep myself locked.
there is a silent dance. lovers-or-whatever bruise each other’s feet.
i look away from boredom. when will this world become a lesson?
i know you’re out there. i see your painted limbs.
your silence asks a lot of me. i pay cash. i know you’re waiting/for clarity.
it’s a gift i’ve never gotten. i’ve never given/up. you tell me i should
with your blooming eyes. i wait for you to wilt/again.
i talk dizzy circles around you. no one ever asks/where i’m from.
they just get lost in the hurricane and show themselves/out.