Two Poems by Scott Miller


The fireflies red on the garden gate.
The blunt-edged black night right beside the blue.
The rusty river rocks in retinue.
The moonlit lake-milk mulling long and late.
The worm-wear coil weaning off the wine.
The pomp and puff, expectant pillory.
The distance they describe diurnally.
The nocturne of the dazed and the divine.
The viral valor in the vitriol.
The leaning in to loathe a little less.
The dread-endured dream, demon donning dress.
The blessed amnesia of alcohol.
The groping hand, gripped hard against the grain.
The fear that I will face that face again.


The folds of crimson form a terrace slope
at the solar plexus, then flare at the waist;
petals of silk uncoil, interlope
and undermine each other, accents laced

with hidden stitches. Slit above the knee,
it clings to modesty with slight success
and compensates the plummet of its
Vneck, shaping a more than generous

helping of bodice. Ideal for cocktails,
benefit galas, opera: apropos
of any season. When the wind prevails
upon it, the tail will sometimes lift, and blow

streaming behind, a red banner of Allah.
Thin straps and lack of back preclude a bra.

Scott Miller received his MFA in poetry from Antioch University Los Angeles. He works as a software developer while pursuing a writing career to achieve the elusive left-brain/right-brain balance. His work has been published in Barrow Street, Caveat Lector, The Citron Review, and Two Hawks Quarterly. He is a poetry editor for The Splinter Generation.