poetry

Fables of the River

in

Swallow…

Just one more cover.

I beat through field-dusted artifacts,

To Sun streets gone.

Your blur, free streaming ahead.


River Legends,

Have hidden speeds.

Body behind it perfect nobody.

Sun mountain just can’t picture.

Faltering behind steaming hand writings.


The field,

Where your chairs fall.

I, body, and all time.

Cuts streets.

A Bull’s post.

Free before slight lines.


See plans behind hidden ears.

Below sweet mountain.

Nobody locks all your culture.

Can’t blur that through more ghosts.


The train,

Breathing before the steaming river.

Cross dry, perfect suns.

All speeds of us,

Cut waves wide open.


By Oyl Miller

Sound On

in

Boy band billboard drive by.

Blaring auto-tuned lemon drops of pop.

Spreading over-produced white noise.

Look at all them leather-clad pretty boys.

Angst over nothingness.

Sales over somethingness.

Bleaching all taste from the streets.

Preaching mediocrity with all the right beats.

You already know what the music video looks like.

Pushing every pixel further out from life.

Same retouched photos of the immediate cute.

Putting synths on blast.

Critical thinking on mute.

Stretching expectations and pin ‘em on a backpack.

Instagramming them to a hashtag laugh track.

Look at the art-directed bad boy glares.

Frosted-tip, mean-mug stares.

Get lost in the artificial sheen.

Who cares if we ever know what they mean.

Read the lyric sheets and grow your knowledge.

Hang around at the uni ten years after college.

Street snaps over street smarts.

Thumbs up and glitter hearts.

Nice sample, who cares where it comes from.

And just like that, the billboard’s gone.

As the next one rolls in.

Next verse, same as the first.

Wash it away with the fat straw bubble tea.

As you wait in this line for two times eternity.

-o.m/