KD Miller: Poems

KD Miller Sep 2015

undated

Autumnal leaf air,
with the historical cut of princetonian guile
I walk toward the dull exonerated street
she looks heavenward; asks for a cigarillo
   tahiti bean
we never questioned our being,
        we just floated and
the capsicum katana slicing our
      corneas into julienne,
I tell her I can't, I quit,
never knowing quite what to do
smoking in june outside a wedding with the boys
she cuts me off, fast it's back to
thinking of  melting flower pots and broiled
   confectioner's sugar in my tiptoe mind-
   my toes are flat on the ground I walk with a gait,
          lifting my heels as if i myself seemed an aristocratic soul
                                                             I look up
                                                                  she has walked away
                                                                                              toward the
                                                                                                          candy store
to buy licorice

Washington road

KD Miller Jun 2015

Washington road

6/17/2015

"It was a queer, sultry summer, the summer they electrocuted the Rosenbergs, and I didn't know what I was doing in New York."
– Sylvia Plath

the green monet blur of
blades splay across my window
like a ***** on a bed

the garter on her leg:
purple asterids
and buttercups.

i realize something inside me
has changed:
i no longer am accustomed

to the looks of campus on foot
however the way it looks
driving past, splattered dead

on my glass.
I balance on the smog settled
Sidewalk

what she said

KD Miller Jul 2015

what she said

The Smiths
were playing in the background,
I couldn't tell if it was in the bar or in my lager smelling dorm room dappled with posters memory.
Princeton windowpanes dusted with clusters of snowflakes pressed
against the dark wood in the bar basement.

and so, she said, twisting her straw,
*i used to have a problem with morality, you know?
and *** and stuff?
i was just a kid then.
then he'd tell me stroking my hair
'babydoll, i love you though,'
and i'd say 'i know.
there'll come the day that you don't,
though.'

that shut him up, real good.'

Whitman

KD Miller Feb 2015

Whitman

"whitman's for the white men" I laughed
marauding through the green squares
AL and I cursing the wind for
our bad lighters and
she laughed again too.
"don't you mean the whole Ivy League"

"yeah **** ****, curse the Caucasian
Patriarchy dude"
she spit drool on the grass by
Dillon

"yeah man I don't know, I'm a bit
nervous you know."
she looked like a pummeled cartoon ghost and I wondered why

then behind me I heard a Hi and
I said to her "uh... Remember the American Spirits" (she ended up getting me newports)

I turned around and oh uh hey
back in his room explained to him what Imbroglio meant somewhat

hurriedly and then I knighted it the
Whitman imbroglio looking at the door map

This poem wasn't titled the way he suggested I should
But I think it's ok

witherspoon

KD Miller Mar 2015

witherspoon

3/7/2015

I've met a few good men,
a few good men, this is why
I am so vexed.

The springing pantomines
of careful youth rings around
the green, as it always has

the campus store sells
cigarettes and muffins and condoms
as it always has, and

although the mood is different than
the one on early semester Halloween
night,

The grass is as green as it always
has been.
I need to learn to let people

and things go, but it doesn't help
when you live, when half of those memories

happened in towns where George Washington and Witherspoon got
drunk off their *****,

and Madison lied about men in the woods. Sitting dully alone in the stadium

the vast Powers,
I am one in 23,000
and I do not know how I feel

about that and the lost
days when I used to chain smoke
voraciously in the parking lot

in a car that smelled like
burnt tobacco
and run through

the rain in Murray dodge,
write on the walls at the Pyne
arches and smoke

drugs with friends
in the freezing rain on Wilson's
grave.

This is all gone now
and
I need new trivial distractions

now that all of mine are gone
and I see the summer sun getting
closer to my bruised memory.

Z

KD Miller Jan 2015

Z

5/1/2014
I’ve never met a woman that knew what Forbes was, or had a subscription to it at the age of 18 anyways. First thing she said to me when she sat down was a marvel at the fact that i was 20 and actually right in front of her. We talked about Champagne rose and the middle class the first 5 minutes we knew each other- I told her she was a woman after my own heart and I unbuttoned the top of my collar. She smiled tightly as if there was taffy stuck to her front teeth, or something, and she asked me didn’t I think she looked a bit young? I told her not really but sometimes, but I thought most of the time she looks 13, but i kept that to myself, and that’s when I noticed her eyebrows. They were perfectly squared and colored in perfect mocha. And then my eyes trailed a bit down and found her eyelids- it’s as if she had glued skinny leather black strips above her lashes.
“I love your tan,” I remarked, unbuttoned again. She stifled and told me she was an islander. I smiled and told her I love dark skinned girls. She blinked a green eye and touched the blonde of her hair with a chubby finger and i asked what she planned on after school- she told me human rights law, and how she hoped for a short dinero packed marriage. I asked her if she wanted to go to bed with me and she smiled and said no and stood up. I told her I could respect an opulent woman like that, and her fingers soothed down and up the hem of her genteel Chloe blouson. I said bye and finished her glass of Cristal.

— The End —