RC Miller – 5 poems



The explosion of my dick to cum within my tick,
O there is nothing more pussy.
A human is central air
Remembered by holes.
I imagine deep middle class aluminum window pongs as a street.
I have human holes in my humidity.
Americans are concrete.
Poets are idiots.
Americans need poets set on fire
To burn like fruity petrol up Saudi Arabian cock holes.
There is combat in my balls
Fucking each other every chance they asinine.
I ask my language at gun point to
Categorize to assess any responsive
Human quality requiring bedpan services.
I understand I need 
To mate on top and beyond my grave.

I need to understand
The expulsion of humans
From the hole of a human.




While illustrating titties

Same price
Church, state, or city, 
Lots of cute girls love that premature baby.

A barnyard, scratch ‘n sniffing
Lots of cute guys loving their gallbladders.
And soundscapes of emphysema
Because I don’t care, because
This bird’s foot is not the word for how I feel.

While illustrating my children, 
I pity my children.
Of anti-aircraft.
Of dildo.
Of the dildo salesman

Taking after every green cleaning supply.
O the saint with her sheet
Of dragon and of bagel
Praises me riding my rotisserie,
All balletic.




A blob of toothpaste
Eats me
Like a barbarian goddess.
I’m billions of mouse holes by now.

I gong the sister a crucifixion nags.
I long for her system.
She gives me transmutation so I may live.
I’ll even relax and open my ass.
And she’ll eat until spilled.
Later slam a beer and study cosmic clarity.

Ending delusion is the moon, the door, a whoop loop, a blank mind and
Zero feeling.
With a clutch from her cunt I shatter like the meat a mountain ferns.
I slip behind the backseat 
Of leaves to bag and pubic hairs to shave,
Of handjobs music recalls and fame.
Ah, the forward thinking of the free appetizer. 




Cloudscapes insertable. Insertable baby reef. Soiled bees. Plotted radiator. 
Where I work uncorks me.
I fuck my desk and then the deaf kid.
In his great mercy.
In His great mercy!
A virus rings
A good name is better than silver and gold.
Hellhounds bark “cha-ching.”
Fraught lichens courtside premeditate a primitive need for toiletries. 
Glorified, I’m on the phone.
It’s glorifying that the deaf kid is on an uncorked bee.
My baby beef underneath my pants
Reminds him of Easter grass.
It is enough that I’m moving an ounce of what a wall wills.
My culture my posture my toys my carpet my oxygen my nap my comet
On the crow’s immune neon.
I desire no thoughts to arrive.
I desire no thoughts to arrive!
Circles are stars and insects.
Goon moons
Taint the tacky soul’s backwash.
Tailpipes spunk hushed nonwords. The beginningless thusness.
A cherry ocean dusk apron
Passion for life plans on its derivatives.
Humanity is poised to embrace its vital coda.
Black holes establish boutiques.
Sizzling beef, pork, lamb, sausage, and poultry cover their mouths and hospitals.
It takes more than a shooting or a mattress to make them orderly.
Maybe when I start running and meaning it’s the climax of their movie.
I believe the temperature of my carpet is the name for whatever pursues the highest truth.
I find eternal peace between pee and cease.
I am the tree bearing news of fresh fruit.




A drag-hot hearse sunrise
Flea deploys its silent bliss.
Five violet leopards pray to that.

I’m five violent days jailed in an upright melon.
I make a face but hair loves nothing.
I make a face but get in line anyway.

A woman has her hair pulled into a steam cleaner.
A man has his scalp rushed to a blender.
I loathe life but live forever anyway.

My imagination plays coffin-shaker
And composes fast
Sophie and Kat tickling each other.

Kat pinches Sophie’s flap.
The spider infuses eyeless pavement.
I have pussy envy.

Not being nowadays casts
My perfect union of felon and dull.
Burps from the lips of foreskin waterfalls,

Cola waterfalls, kerosene waterfalls,
Wire waterfalls, average waterfalls
Loathe life but get in line anyway.

Sophie and Kat know from long ago
A silent violet bliss.
I have eyeless envy.



RC Miller lives in Metuchen, NJ. He is creator of Mask With SausagePussy Guerilla Face Banana Fuck Nut, and the upcoming Demon Drawings. Miller maintains an art blog via WIGFUCKER




About gobbet

gobbet is a literary magazine dedicated to publishing the very best experimental poetry and prose. Intellectual perversity and explorations of dark themes are positively encouraged. We are only interested in work that is progressively experimental. We want to see risks, and we want to see them pay. No previously published work. Prose should not be longer than 1000 words. There are always exceptions. Send 3-5 poems. Include a short bio. Send submissions to gobbetmag@hotmail.co.uk Work will be published every 5-10 days. We also intend to publish anthologies of selected work published in gobbet. We will do our best to reply promptly. Most submissions will receive a decision within a month.
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