Three Poems by RC Miller

"Renegade Aide"

I piss in the corner but not in the corner’s bush.
I like my tuna with peanut butter.
I almost bought the farm in Bamberg, South Carolina,
But passed out drunk just in time.
Now’s ills to bed, pills to wakey,
And all I really want to do is sneeze tuna-flavored peanut butter.
Like Ikkyu bewilders a shopping spree,
Fleas piss on their dogs tanning lime.
They read, they jump, they smell of droves
Smelling better prices on babies who dunk
Pork dumplings latching chemical suits.
I smell the earthlings my paranoia thwarts.
I can't read, I can't jump over this self-taught self-pity.
My birth is my death as my death
Buys green tea ice cream and ponders a honey
Wiggling to taste my birth in her bush.
Exploiting a collective memory,
Squidless billboards spill more clams than polished
Holidays upheaving inventive underwear.
Such pineal Sundays
Just lying in lettuce,
Hoping someday soon I'll lie for polling.
The phones are always answered with a positive and natural tone.

"Abstract Slavery"

I fuck a seagull on a parking lot.
To lay dandelions I flock to church, light mandibles, sing hymns and pray.
Eyefucked a seagull on a parking lot.
The task of identifying it remains.

Heavy fog that's hardly talking rings out at noon.
An aircraft crashes in the forest and after there's a crown.
Red is penetrating its remains.
Holy task simply spoons.

My family takes turns blowing me on a shopping cart.
I would appreciate everyone understanding that this is our private family registry.
When nothing but melted cheese will do they drive me around in their dark hearse.
The airstrike has thankfully slain and reduced an already pitiful condition.

I fuck blood from wounds in the wrists, feet, and slides.
The seagulls hollow the forest and lay cheese on fire.
A fog identifies round as simply untrue.
I think the family-sized cross really did fuck a seagull.

"The Body Cavity And A Lot Of"

The end is near.
Too drunk to write.
Stephen King interjects:
Supersize the zombie's astigmatism frozen in a pedophile’s fishtank.

Tablets that dominate gadget shows
Starve animals more sophisticated than previously mopped.
A bit of spittled rant weighs my teeth
Sleeping on pins or twats.

Beach outages widespread.
Useless spines skin my wine.
Some impossibilities are alive simply to handcuff
A stag sucked onto totems on a tote bag and blind.

I munch my own butt, Daddy-like.
Or lust Parkinson's, ninny and remarkable.
Might be a crouton’s most perfect
Dyslectic whatsoever.

Hear trailer trash kids in the infomercial lane say
As no one has Nerf-tits is perfection as is possible.
The proper English term is black and white people spark
No more beauty except in their struggle.

The end is here.
Acorn apes rape a hot Harry Potter-inspired fishtank.
Stephen gets dialectically hungry, fuck

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