Friday, May 25, 2012


Where’s the boundary
 that separates our existence from
                                           the next?
Where’s that fine hairline
     between sagacity

This border, I believe rests deep
            within our minds.
It’s the one that keeps us on the cool side of sane
and hardly ever shows its many masks.

       It surfaces only when triggered or needed
to keep us from the shadowy jewels and the answers
that lay hidden
      behind the

Caress its lyrical tongue of wisdom with your inquisitive own.
Master its mystery, the bedlam and natural born deceit.
Her recurring faces with her cantations & rhymes
show the path to tomorrow’s
                             silver dream.
Reach out to touch this dream
and you’ll find yourself lost in mystical union
You will find yourself in a universe
with no boundaries.

Victor Millan

Saturday, May 19, 2012

Traits of Insertion

69 poems corkscrewed through my depraved head but in the meantime, in front of me,
these two chicks noisily finished eating each other’s peaches out
coming to a bring off in the arms of bursting spasms.

It was amazing.                     Both of them slithering around like sweaty
Romanian contortionists making an effort at perfection so they go again.
Beautiful teenage lovers trying to be.
One – a virgin porno star.
They just laid wet on my bed enjoying the animalistic way of
the fuck.

So I walked a bit closer and reacted in erection to their actions.
Letting them work their marvelous thing and then get comfortable just as they’d
and then I let them feel my tawdry love in a star spangled banner sort of way
                                     just as I’d expected.

The addicted young slut, the porno star, and the velvet cock  ~  in the end we all laid on the bed outta breath, calming down, seeing the light for the first time. And one of them reached over for the bullet and candied up her nose and kept the ferris wheel on a contagious round about roll.

 Helluva hellacious event!
 Doing the hokey pokey and slipping off the rubber sheets
 with a hand spank on her ass cheek.   .   .   .   I said.

Victor Millan

Thursday, May 17, 2012

Toothache in Church

How do I work-in the time when I was about 6 or seven years old and had a toothache on the right side of my mouth and that Sunday evening at church I kept complaining to my mom, who was sitting to my left, about my tooth but she kept telling me to be quiet and that church was almost over and to hold the pain until it was over. And she gave me that biting look that said I’m this close to pulling hairs and belting your ass. But I couldn’t hold the pain and I kept complaining until we had to stand up and walk out while the pastor was sermonizing and all the other good Christians were sitting down on their hard, wood pews paying attention to the word of God.

At one point on the drive home in the middle of being pissed off at me she confused me by angrily calling me El Diablo from her sanctimonious front seat. I don’t recall my dad saying a word.
And when we got home I got my ass exorcised w/a belt real good by my mom for making her leave early and embarrassing her in front of all of her hypocritical church friends.

Bunch ‘a creepy assholes.

Victor Millan 

Saturday, May 12, 2012

In My Wake

It’s kind of difficult to explain but I felt like a blanket of evil passing through the city.
Thick like an English fog ~ leaving a cancer LSD in my wake.
The counselors and the men were upset because I tampered with their moral and preordained values. But the women rejoiced w/the flares and the dance because I tampered with each and every one of them.
They wrote songs and rang carnival bells
and then  .  .  . their sorcery suffered my soul.

Victor Millan

Friday, May 11, 2012


When I work I meditate.
When I orgasm I feel holy.
When I eat I stimulate.
What I absorb I integrate
and when I die I’ll try to remember  .  .  .

to hold my breath
on the way



August 11, 1999
Victor Millan

Saturday, May 5, 2012


Mescaline eye drops free-falling to a fat splash on the flying iris. 2-clicks in each one to send me searching for the perfect storm while it dreams of ruin. The piercing burn at the back of my eyeballs. The fibrous nerves and tentacles waving, going nowhere ~ gone numb.
Mental masturbation sometimes in repetition, the unsafe way ~ the ones that don’t know say.
The skipping of brains on solitary ponds and then a sit down on the moss with my tired regrets hanging in the cold moonlight listening for the plan so they should kick in and not be left out in the frost.
Specters hiding behind cast stones cast lots along the way with my dirty coin not minding the gamble I was taking with time for the sake of she.
Religious symbols weave their way around my drunken head but not well imbibed they are; eating away at my life fulfilling prophecies carelessly divined.

Numerous voices whisper in the dark ~ Cast it out

I go to the sliding mirror and with broken reason staring back at me I walk through the silver sheath throwing jubilations up in the air at a quiet day; the kind you only read about on the palm of a wounded hand. And you were there waiting for me as always wearing your moods. The happy rearranging of my drugged out DNA has me looking over your shoulder because I never trust; so again I fly with the million eyes looking through your mirrors and smoke. Depth was non-existent for that one breath I held and there I was . . . existing without my honor.

Fog was sifting in and out of the mausoleum going nowhere ever breathing its purpose to the tongue-tied masses. Blood curdling screams fractured the heavy night shattering meditating souls’ dreams falling their prayers to be lost in wandering streams. Ghostly energies scavenged about waiting to take my life at the first chance of a guard let-down. The taste of blood was permanently kissed on their undying lips.
Time to break open the chapters and the craters in your mind and trip elsewhere. Anywhere but here. Step into a whirlpool of emptiness, of perdition and disappear in search of new friends & new frontiers.
In the meantime,
grasp at anything that’ll save your life or maybe destroy it w/a tempered blow.

The rivers of time are drying up fast.
A drought is coming to Menae.

July 1992
Victor Millan