Friday, May 6, 2011



Dumplings flex on a cross.
God is greeting to eat.
Invisible forces agree to think
Big ugliness.

Big beauty.
Big decay.
Their inner Drano swig
Eats my dead brain on the cross.

I identify with the life identity of its dead.
My edge is orbiting my life inside of my dumpling.
God spanks flexes during this entire game.
Bilingual eyesore.


Hoping for The Rapture. Ten-four. That's why celebrities commit gouda.

On nobody's jaw the sun dies eternally. She's being 6 things they realize about being

Ready to stop seeing. Doom blankets the entire world. Monetize. You're masturbating.


Flicking off devotees' cred.
Galaxy out.

Its halo rattles a distant brother galaxy.
A crapella.

Sperm blood.
That usually pops in my mind after I incite


Suns chill their dud in the
First mute sped by milk.

A rabid dog turns his hallway movie.
That mute makes for a terrifying priest.

By dusk clouds lead
Mysterious trees tied to that rabid dog.

Super savings
Milk it like sniffling wrists.


Minding eyes with its glass girlfriend
That changes me into her police body and
Forces both my chopped torsos to
Herd around like mounted faces
Where one is
What I'd name
Two people going from bruises to doors
Going shut in some shared head likely causing blunt authority
Over a few chimes of horror and then onward there's doubt and that's all
Demon penis, Dostoevsky.


Little monsters hollow me.
Celebrity online, I am worn your stay.
Thank you for begging for soft cuticles.
My screen is embarrassed by fossils and crust.

I'm sure regular people will be hassled with extra checks
And made to jump through luscious fire-layer pumpkin cakes.
Some even have sex with a teenage mosquito’s
Dark page.

Scepter that way.
Thank God beautiful cuticles impress
Soft celebrities.
Monster finally itself again births little tunnels allowing me.


Retired jellyfish choke malls of seaweed. A homage to newly unearthed columns of fifteen dark messages prophesizing shores in all human navels. Swimming pools between apartment walls row.


A blue golf shirt matched with khaki shorts urinates into some trees. Its penis was long gone. All male golfers pee into little boys and initiate suffering from matched cart-fever.

When a blue golf shirt becomes against the law, trees should arrange shorts by shortest penis spine. Urine puts on a diet the hole of an absolute angel.

That loaf on top of a tree was once a little boy. So flows the summer of khaki asparagus.


Tennis and terror lengthen Great Mother's two-water demon star.
Plan a family and back fat wrong foot on crabs so far.
Linty deer feed five-dollar mammograms weird flashlights shave taco.


Head tool of the gray neigh,
I'm touring
Abyss shit in my love.
Dandy air whore.
Paused lump.
I love to suck on turpentine’s
Icy scrunch
Donkeys for.


Whatever, in-store TV untying Yemen for the sportsman varies buns always on the Cause pouring everything to be born an acceptance of a permanent movie playing inside the sea monster's abortion vastly wetter than the business model for spills of K-Y.


Being notorious for fucking sandwiched pups of pendulums
And that brainstorming down an adder's paunch.

Off the Florida Saturday.
Cupped to the goof.

Christ, I can imagine my nostrils
52 miles under pizza.


Fatal is soil the
Dumber mouth is
The spent that's stuff
That came that beast
As God as worm
Legs covered with eared toad humps
Choose my begging
Garden full of slave
Cities full of slave
Brains full of lays and political
Olden days in a lizard's scrappy
Penis shitting doughnuts
To heaven or hell
With a bag full of farting
Doughnuts made from balding eggs
Hold on and tan their virgin parts.

Fun stomachs ward
Nose brushed pig tender huge chin air smushing though
Kissing like bone essence of the very sane
Soil is sodomy.


The woman has her hair pulled into a machine. A universal appeals but doesn't state what the equipment was. Hair loves nothing. The official said soul accident.


Cut open my belly.
There's something inside it for every swarm.
Air Jordan's in the desert then dismembered.
So witchy.
Cut up everyone.
Make naked by the daffodils.

I've been losing sleep over my coffin.
That is not glory. This is:
Innermost beings in circulating videos
Amputate their limbs to get free
Texts and tapping sounds.
Post-originate to launch stray monsters of the get.


Of a hermit in a tree. The ecstatic one. Little mothering sledgehammer.

I'm two-legged cave fondling. Close to a hood. A long hair in us three.

Milk from a snail is a kind of ape shell
Protecting basketfuls of sledgehammered children
Vivid as cursed planets.

I quake like a cursed planet. Totally sponsored. I wake up having sex with the death of water.

Horn loaded hybrid hobgoblins porked by air-frights claim HBO is their shaman.


Rot of motionless wild.
Yikes, a hairy snow acts!
Am I the horse legs

The hairy snow jokes with a lemon
Sung about when
Hopeless insane

Skeletons are out of the view of
Snowmen carved on stones.
It's no good.
I've lost God.


Sands birth green sauce to oil the sky.
The trembling of an inner blackness swamps coals.

Ants devise rashes for the exit of cooling stars.
The sky recycles from mossy haste to bun.

Green sauce sprouts tits atop my finds.
Herds that carve minds divvy the blackness every sauce kids.


Doorway of flesh-hooks
Projects Hell without a mouth.
For teeth it has
The horror-thickened consciousness of rocks and trees.
Under my tail I tout a head.
Inside that plaster there is a worm.
All of its teeth are biting evil ideas in
Serpent-headed feathered fudge.
The thirst is a mailing
Mask with sausage.


A blindfold never finished
Hangs a goose.
Uses its overbite to lube holy water.
A nun glides back into my asshole.
A winking-why nun.
Crows approach without his history or meaning.
Fish with a wolf's body
Give them speech and senses.
Bug eye


You're your you years.
Yeah, write
And would work
Words with a who and will
Which is where the when, what,
We're, well, we ways of water that was
A want to very use us up and um,
Uh-huh, uh TV too.
Time those and this
Thinking of things they're these there, the them
That take such a state, something so
She sees and says right, really a president
Percent of people parts over outer our-others, or
Only one on ok oh number. Now is not no news, and
New is much of most, and more than a million mhms mean
It's me, the many I may make made a lot to look long and
Like the let's know a kind and just info if we had
Guessed good goings to go, given from first finds evenly down.
I don't do day-canned calling byes before I've been because I'll
Be back at any ah after.


The lubricated bat tickles her own decomposition. My master is that bat. Vending machines in skies in splinters.

My cock has eyes and clogs fingers harvested for nets. Carving stations pink as sleep. Trespassers yeast.

A cave made of ants hot in the mind. Comets swallow lubricated black. Lobsters on cars dealt.


Auto Carrie home life.
Lighters being/going gangless on

A wigged nape shart.
Gym. Steven.

Artery tower.
Virtual fish drown fishing squats
Their wobbles fetch.

Some of these poems previously appeared at 
Blue & Yellow DogCalliope NerveCormac McCarthy's Dead Typewriter, and gobbetmag


Tyson Bley said...

Cool. Always look forward to an update from you.

RC Miller said...

Much appreciation Tyson. This is a recently completed chapbook manuscript I have yet to decide what to do with.

babybearcat said...

Robot says nyum nyum nyum