Lion's Poem by Miller Williams

I miss the alcohol on her red lips,
catching her weight as she let herself fall
her shiny, smooth-soft shoulders and the way they
heaved as she clutched the toilet bowl. Pulling that beautiful thick
blonde tangle back and gripping it into a pony’s tail as the bile burned brightly
against porcelain ivory, the stench overcome only by the scent
sweet lilac and strawberry, clenching my jaw I saw her fall
another bruised knee, she got back up, took a wobbly step and proclaimed,

“I need a shower.”

That’s all I could stand, all I could take, my lust a lake, a dam she must
break. Bleach, the smell of her special vomit shirt like bleach and Suishi Cruise Saki Bomb,
naked now, two shower curtains aside. Scorched skin, it must be a sin. Enter behind her deep
lull her to sleep, passed out on the floor, I want more. The shadows and cream cheese paint— God’s great plan, Darwin’s terrible joke. Her chest stirs peacefully
cover her bare bronzed-white skin with a fleece blanket
lightly lift her arm to curl around my
neck. Hold my breath rest my head upon her
breast so as not to wake her. Visceral love, she fits my contours like a glove,
insomnia draws me into cosmic consciousness and I realize profoundly,

“I am fucked.”

How does this perfect picture become so knotted up like a bubbling
scalp of hair singed and still burning, black smoke vapid rising, heart shot death, the words

“I don’t love you anymore,”

pierce her skull, dropping her amygdala off the moon into the cold of
nothing, polar bear swim, my heart veteran astronaut-diver. Months without words,
it is I who am frozen now, she is an Iron Curtain, our memories a scratched record fast forward never
end. This winter I’ve concocted rages cruel
alchemy. I miss the alcohol on her red lips
catching her weight as she let herself fall
her shiny smooth-soft shoulders
and the way they heaved
as she clutched the toilet bowl.

excerpted from www.millerwilliamsaction.com, a blog about Thai Culture, Muay Boran, MMA Schools, taking a visit to Thailand, and much, much more.

Is anyone from Puchner's class still reading this blog?

Miller

Paranoia

“I got this drink free.” Her alto voice can be heard over the click-swish of the printer. “When I go in last week they give me the wrong drink, and I was like, ‘naw homie that’s not what I ordered,’ so they give me this card for a free coffee or some shit.” She runs her white fingers through her layered brown hair every few sentences and he notices the way they part the strands seductively. He wants to ask, ‘did you just call me homie?’ but he doesn’t.

“How was that other drink?”

“It was aite. But I wanted my drink, know what I’m sayin? But at least shit was free. Ain’t gonna pass up no free drink.”

He stares into her brown eyes for a moment. “You know, this drink wasn’t free.”

She turns to face him.

“You paid for your drink and got the wrong one. You paid for this drink, you got the other one free, the one you didn’t want.”

“Naw, man. I got two—one drink free with the card.” She’s smiling like she’s got him cornered.

“You know what, it’s not worth it.”

“That’s right, Chi-town, don’t pull that shit up in here.”

He wants to walk away but the script is still printing. “So, got any plans for the weekend?”

“Yeah, Ima hit up that Timbaland party tonight.”

“How do you hear about these things?”

“Homie, I’m popular.”

The script is finally done printing. He takes it and walks away. He reads for an hour before he hears her voice rise over the puff of the air conditioners. Despite their previous exchange he is excited to talk to her. She is leaning over a desk avidly talking to another intern, Ishmel, and his co-worker, Mimi.

“I know, cause I been workin in this field for three years, ya hear, and I been noticing things that happen, like who gets promoted and shit.” Her black shirt has fallen off of one of her shoulders, and his eyes follow the curve of her back to where her hips poke out behind her in their fitted jeans. “They run this field. I shouldn’t be talking bout this.” She lowers her voice. “But you know, it’s not just this place, they run the country. Freemasons, Illuminati, they all the same.”

He looks over at Mimi who is sitting next to her with a smile on her face. “Is she really saying this right now?” Mimi laughs.

He pulls up a chair to sit down. Mimi laughs again. “Look, he be sitting down, like, I gotta hear this.” He turns to Mimi.

“How did this start?”

“Ishmel was talking bout how he can’t get paid cause no one wants to hire his ass and she starts going off about this Illuminati.” He turns away from Mimi.

“’M telling you, I didn’t believe this shit until I watched those videos I told you bout., but they opened my eyes to it. Real talk. This shit’s scary.” Her words clash so violently with her Caucasian face that he finds it too mesmerizing to look away.

“Hold on, you’re telling me that you actually believe that the Illuminati rule the world?”

Without missing a beat she replies, “Yeah homie.”

“We need to talk sometime.”

“Naw, dude, I know what I believe and you can’t say nothing to convince me.”

“I’m not trying to convince you or anything, I’m just trying to decide whether you’ve actually got a point or if you’re crazy.”

That catches her off guard. He looks at her. She’s smiling. “I’ve been in this industry for a long time and some of the shit I’ve seen, it’s crazy dude. I should teach a class on this shit, for real.”

“Tell you what, you give me a textbook and I’ll read it.”

“Ain’t that kinda class.”

“No kidding.” He gets up. She’s beginning to scare him. “OK, well, I’d love to talk about conspiracy theories all day, but I’ve got work to do.” He leaves to do more reading, wondering why all the cute girls have to be so crazy.

Here goes

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