Heavy things

Give me your bruises,
the nauseated stains of
your fingers too hard on my skin,
yeah I kind of like it that way
when you’re breathing (her) name
real quiet like you’re trying
to place her     between us,
isn’t it easy with the
whiskey on your lips

the green haze
swimming through the air
(we are just bodies now)
and sending our distinctions
of face and rhythm
to sleep-

Give me the passionless
thrust of flesh, just enough
to ignite the heat and     release;

with your hands tied up
in my hair like that, baby who
(the fuck?)
knows what touch or title
we’ll rub into our mottled
skin in the sober morning.

And we’re up all night again, cursing the torn-up road again,
we’re slipping under each other’s skin, and if there’s a lesson
shirking in the sheets it’s that kisses are real heavy things,
all your burdens and scars and scarlet grief clenched between your teeth-

grease bath

i eat chili cheese fries
when i think about quitting
my job

a cure for
stoic wrinkles is
to bathe in
fat and grease
slather it
on your skin
grease gives
pimply life to a
bland epidermis

that’s the joy of
America’s finest food
something that has
no hidden agenda
after it hugs your tongue
and slides
down your throat
no vitamins
or minerals
or fiber

vegetables are too preachy
turkey has no substance
french fries know
what you want
simple carbs after a
complex day
piling the chili
and the cheese
in defiance
long after
dietitians
wisdom
and your battle-weary arteries
tell you to stop

i ate chili cheese fries
when she stopped talking to me
and i feel better already

Dizzy

David was dizzy. Probably from drinking. But also from social anxiety. He downed the remainder of a lukewarm Pabst and crushed the can in his palm, shuffling nervously through the crowded living room towards the kitchen for another one. He’d had five already. May as well make it an even six.
There were four Others lingering around the frig, chatting about something. Politics or gossip… Bullshit, basically. If David was going to get a beer, he realized that he’d have to somehow slip between them, interrupt their conversation and – worst case scenario – get sucked into it himself. He heard his heart pounding against his ribcage. Felt his forehead growing warmer. Taking a deep breath, he took an awkward step forward.
“Excuse me,” he mumbled before grasping the handle of the door and pulling it open. The four Others had put their discussion on hold. David’s hands trembled as he fumbled through the loaded frig for a cold Pabst. After some difficulty, he managed to locate one and closed the frig with a barely audible “Sorry.”
“S’okay,” one of the four Others sighed. A girl, probably 19 or 20, with dyed black hair and too much eyeliner. David felt her annoyance in his bones. He’d never seen her before, or most of the people here for that matter. He’d come to this party – against his better judgment – at the behest of his friend Tess, but now, she was nowhere to be found. She’d gone off with some of her other friends shortly after she and David had arrived. He was still pissed at her for this.
She knows I have awful social anxiety, he thought, Why the hell would she just throw me to the wolves like this?
There he was, alone, guzzling Pabst Blue Ribbon, standing in his own little corner on the fringes of a party whose host he’d yet to meet. The alcohol had not produced its intended effect of calming his nerves enough so he could actually engage the other revelers and enjoy himself. He decided to go out on the back deck and do what he normally did in these circumstances – chain smoke.
It was a mild later summer night. The weekend after Labor Day. The air was balmy, the sky was clear and peppered with blazing stars. David stuffed an unlit Camel between his lips. There weren’t a whole lot of Others out there with him. Two girls he didn’t know were cuddled up together on a weathered deck swing. Three guys and another girl stood on the opposite side, laughing and passing around a joint. Hoping he wouldn’t be noticed, David lit his cigarette and slunk into the far corner of the deck. He gazed up at the night sky, trying his best to clear his head. Just keep drinking, he thought.
Some time passed. By now, the three pot smokers had gone inside, the couple on the deck swing had dozed off, and David had smoked roughly five cigarettes. He was working on a sixth. He’d long since finished his beer, but found no desire to get another one. Too many people. Suddenly, he heard his name called from behind. He turned his head. It was Tess.
“David!” She half-shouted, “I have been looking all over for you,” She ambled up to him, spilling some of the contents of her red Solo cup on David’s windbreaker.
“Shit, I’m sorry about that,” she slurred and attempted to rub the stain out with her palm.
“It’s fine,” David forced a semi-smile.
“Why are you out here all by yourself?” Tess asked. The aroma of tequila lingered upon each word.
“I’m not by myself. I made some friends.” David motioned to the passed out couple on the deck swing.
“Funny.”
“Honestly, I just needed some air,”
“There’s better air inside!” Tess laughed. She was hammered.
“I’m fine out here,” David tried to assure her, but after some thought, said “Actually… I think I may just jet…”
“What do you mean? Why?”
“I kind of just want to go home, smoke a bowl, and watch Adult Swim.”
“Well how are you gonna get home?” A painfully sincere look of concern came over Tess’ face.
“I dunno. Walk I guess. I only live a few blocks from here.”
“I think you should staaaaaaaaay.” Tess implored, tugging at David’s sleeve as if that would suffice as a convincing argument to persuade him. ”
“Tess…” David began, carefully going over in his head what he was about to say, “Tess, I really didn’t want to come here in the first place. But you swore – swore – that it’d be fun, that we’d have a good time, and I’d be glad I came. Then, as soon as we get here, you go off with your friends and leave me alone amid complete fucking strangers. You know that I have crazy anxiety about this shit. I can’t loosen up. I can’t have fun. Fuck, you’re the first person that I’ve talked to in the two and a half hours that have gone by since we got here,” David exhaled deeply. The two were silent.
“Listen, I’m sorry man…” Tess finally said, “But I still think… ” here she hiccupped, “I still think that you should come back inside and hang out. We’re listening to Converge and push moshing. It’ll be fun!”
“I mean, that’s great and everything, but… I still think I’m just gonna call it a night. I’m just not feeling okay.”
“I understand. Alright David. Be safe getting home. Watch out for hoodlums!” The two friends hugged briefly and bid each other farewell. David walked down the steps of the deck to the backyard, then through the gate and finally onto the sidewalk. He lit himself another cigarette, inhaling deeply, and savoring the robust flavor of genuine Turkish tobacco. He blew a thick plume of smoke at the night sky, which now seemed much clearer, more inviting. Feeling calmer, David started for home.

-r. miller

Hazy Scorsese

and when you get to the
point, when the rubble 
is
   the road,

you can only point a gun
at your head, or hers, or both.

so i put a ribbon around
my neck,
a pinpoint on my chest
and i say “here – this
is where it bleeds the most.”

the lines go blurry,
the blood on the wall
glows baroque and
artificial;

everyone goes crazy
like a second-rate
Martin Scorsese
                               scene,

and all you can do 
is hope
some kind of
                         sanity
emerges from the 
                                  shoot-out.

Willie Watt
08.15.16

Foundations

Harsh vegetation blathers.
She conveys secrecy with a look.
Other times, hiccups waste the washed air.
Me with my arm in a cast. Me with…

And along the sidewalk, dribbles
of day’s remainder and the cussed rabble
pushing on. She bites down a bit too hard.
She says she’s losing track.

Velvet fuck whispers and havoc.
The hurting spurts brash tears.
Weird synonyms for sucker.
I and she bathing in a broken light.

Losing track… I and she…
But what is it she’s losing track of?
The night is in stitches,
delaying the melancholy.

Our two heads swollen and heavy.
Penultimate gravity triumph.
I roll my tongue, seeking a taste of..
Suddenly shivering and August all reticent.

We leaf through pages of childhood,
losing ourselves in translation.
Losing ourselves and ravaging
our foundations.

-r. miller

Egalitarian Atlas

i.

Shark tooth and drug faze.

Meat hook and purple haze.

It’s anarchy in the new age

and no one has seemed to notice 
the
rapid-fire decay of Andalusian persecution
or
the persistent reign of lilliputian institutions.

We’re trapped in ouroboric revolution(s)
and
as each fatal fusion
burns the finite carbon of potential
absolution

we pray for an equal chance
at madness
and pop hysteria.

ii.

Clad in balaclava,
molotov in tow,

we summon an egalitarian Atlas
to burn the world
to the ground.

iii.

Forgive me father,
but we will win the war

even if it claims every 
last soul

for eternal
purgatory.

Willie Watt
7.31.16

hung/er

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

buffer.