days (Jay Miller)

i pick at my fingernails

with my other hand

sometimes they come off

like stickers on book covers

other times i bleed

i play the drums

strutting down the corridor

our laundry hamper

under my left armpit

allows me to do air guitar too

i never got over

my ambivalence for existence

it feels petty and all too human

melodramatic even

to pretend i did not choose this

moment to be in

this poem that writes itself

i write myself i am a poet

the rutherford–bohr atomic


i am barely present tense

i am past that

living in the rhotic

syllables with nuclei

gullible roboticist

treble clef metamorphosis

gentian root symmetry

pandering to the matadors

sitting on top of the coin-op

eye to eye with the sunset

lighting my last cigarette

with a burning world

turning about in lockstep

walking through the walls

of the are we there yet

cumulonimbus grand piano

nightsky on the moonrise

the maestro’s out of tune

the most of us out of time

the marching band on the bridge

and the never-ending dross

the radio silence cross-

examination and the

overbearing darkness

i fell asleep in once


Jay Miller is a book reviewer, technical writer, and poet. He lives in Montreal.


image: “Laughter and Tears:” Edward Michael Supranowicz is the grandson of Irish and Russian/Ukrainian immigrants. He grew up on a small farm in Appalachia.  He has a grad background in painting and printmaking. Some of his artwork has recently or will soon appear in Fish Food, Streetlight, Another Chicago Magazine, The Door Is a Jar, The Phoenix, and other journals. Edward is also a published poet.