9 Poems by Tom Miller
© July 16, 1996 - FREDInk Productions

Revised and edited by Tom Miller
January 16, 2006

I Need Your Voice


In a forgotten lunch box

A bubble thought of

Time spent daydreaming

Beside you

And the warmth

From your soft moist skin

Sticking to my skin

And the noises we make

Vibrations distinguish

One voice from another

Become electricity over

The telephone lines

From my town to your town

Still, it is you

Or a fragment of you


Through the end of an ear piece

Into my ear

Receiving sensation and

Back to vibration

Delivering the message to

The center of my lonely brain

Which goes into action

To interpret your words

Into feelings and beyond that,


Deep and low

Dark and quiet

Love is a Forgotten Pet

He pulled up to the office -

His yapping terrier eagerly

Moving about the car -

To retrieve a folder

And while inside, he fondly reminisced

With Mrs. Molly, the secretary

About the boss, Mr. Moss

One hour later, he returned

To make a lunch date

And poor Missy the Mutt

Found once, lost, abused, in a parking lot

Had the driest tongue ever baked

To a crisp in the sweltering sun

Thanks For the Wine, Asshole

I look at your rich face smiling

And I wonder why you canít find

Some fucking money

For the artists?

I know you got your bottom line

And your responsibility

But believe me, brother

Without art

You got nothing

You got shit

You got a 9 to 5 life

With a 9 to 5 wife

That you donít love

And believe me, brother

She donít love you back

The both of you

Cheat on each other

And pretend you love

One another

But you got no love

You white middle of the road

Wouldnít know art if it crawled up

Your ass and dug in to die

Give me some money

You greedy debt manager

But you got nothing

Youíre only worth what you owe people

When you finish giving me nothing

Take your freshly wiped ass with a twenty

Dollar bill back to the grave where

You came from and leave

My dirty renaissance

To the hungry dogs

Let me tell you, brother

Let me tell you


Sheís gone

Left yesterday

Said she had to move

Also said she loved me

Well, sheís gone now

At least I know that

This Cigarette Reminds Me of Our Love

I set this thing on fire

Suck in the smoke

That will probably give me cancer

Some lump to be surgically

Removed so I can live

It burns real quick

Tastes like an ashtray

Like your stale kisses

I once thought sweet

Before too long

Iím smoking the filter

Gagging on it

One drag too many

And then

I push the butt

Into the ash tray

And grind out

The fire

Thatís you, babe

Thatís your cancer

Thatís your smoke

Thatís your butt

And it ainít the first butt I crushed

And it ainít the last

Going Down

This plane

Is rumbling


Dropping 3000 feet

Not normal

Looking out the window

Earth becomes dirt

As the shattered bits

Of our pretend love

Impact into

Pieces too small

For recovery

Crying Never Helps

When I heard the news

That you were leaving

My first thoughts:

How can I keep from crying?

Eyes stinging with that

Initial salty expression

Ready to break

Through the dam

And flood the plain

With torrential currents

Washing away

The unclean terrain

I took a breath

And wrote this poem

It feels good

To write out thoughts

That confounds the senses

My eyes are dry now

My lips slick with

The flavor of cheap wine

Cheap wine that works

In fact, I feel no need

To cry about you leaving me

Iíve fallen into

A comfortable peace

I donít need you

I donít need anyone

Most of all, I donít need love

That pain gets old

All I need is my writing

It doesnít have to be pretty

It doesnít have to be nice

It doesnít have to be caring

It doesnít need my credit card

Itís always new

I know how it thinks

And it loves me

One More Wine

This is the worst wine

Not even table wine

This is floor wine

Dirt on the floor wine

Wine not from the grape

Butt directly from the vine

Pus wine

Wine from the pus of the

Grape vine

Wine made out of pus

And it damn sure gets me drunk

Not light spirited

Not socially lubricated

Not subtly medicated

And not sedated

But a quality of drunk

Far beyond compare

Drunk like the fucking

Back of the alley

Puking on the trash

That could have been

Food for a week

And the girl you met

Shooting up at the bus station

Throw up on her too

Thatís the kind of drunk

The kind of drunk that large

Amounts of money just canít buy

Cheap drunk

Dollar drunk

Drunk li9ke I spit in Shirley Templeís

Butt hole drunk

You did this to me

At the moment of birth

I was innocent

America carved

My smooth rock

Into a coarse headstone reading:

Here lies the body of

An artist

What he did

We do not know

Love Means, Iíll Take a Bullet For Yaí

Love to me means,

Iíll take a bullet for yaí

Love to you means,

You seem convenient

Love to me means,

Iíll do anything for you

Love to you means,

Iíll give you a call later

Love to me means,

I need you

Love to you means

Letís get together if

No one else is available

Here is what love

Means to me now:

Why take a bullet

When you can give one away?


Bad Poem on a Napkin

I wrote this poem
For you on a napkin
At the bar

You wiped some food
Particles off your mouth

I should have
Written it on a tampon


Each parrot I
Shoot never
Repeats the sound
Of my .45


At the zoo
A monkey shamelessly
As performance art
For a church youth group
And their cameras

God loves pornography

Paper Rose

I made a paper
Rose for you
You watered it
You stupid bitch


Roaches lay eggs
Chickens lay eggs
Fish lay eggs
Alligators lay eggs
People lay eggs too
And what usually springs forth
Is an alligator, fish,
Chicken, or roach

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