Tuesday, October 31, 2006

The Rooms

People in the rooms think everyone is a drug addict, or an alcoholic-
There are sex addicts-
Gambling addicts-
Fat fucks that can’t stop eating addicts-
You fall in love
With things that make you feel good-
Everything on this rotten earth’s best day
Makes you feel bad-
Does it take the wisdom of the ages to figure out that this world sucks?
As human beings we just want to feel good-
Locking out the world and it’s insanity-
A smorgasbord of shit-
Shit cookies-
Shit cream puffs-

Yea. The world has it all…

by Ron Cervero


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Monday, October 30, 2006

WASPS IN MY DESK

Wasps in my desk,
devouring the conscious tablet soul

Milk & royal jelly;
Collapsing the form to feed

Dressed in
moustache 70's swag
with his obese queen,
an entire cohort
They've come to stagnate within my perimeter
and challenge my assiduousness

An inferential curse of mastication & vexation

Thank you, oh, loathsome endomorphs
Once again,
society wrecks my concentration;
& like frightened birds my thoughts escape in unison

by Aaron Rutten


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Sunday, October 29, 2006

JOHN WILMOT'S LAMENT

Nipple shoved she towards my wanting lips
Sucked did I
While my finger did slip
Into the crack moist between her quivering legs
My cock growing oaken as the wench's cunt begs
Shall I thrust deep into her
Adding sperm to the fire?
Or shall I withdraw all my love
Stoking a lasting desire?

by Eric Blare


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Saturday, October 28, 2006

Sonia’s Story

He received her call not knowing what would result.
Her consult was to inform him that she was going to be
in town on business and wanted to have “company”. He
always loved when black women use that term;
suggestively yet ambiguous, just like her. They had
talked often of her skirting the line between her
devotion to her marriage and the desire burning in her
loins.

She was slow and sweet like black strap molasses, dark
brown, smooth and silky; both in body and mind. The
smell and feeling of her transcends time. He
remembers each encounter when she was pressed between
his arms, his nose inhaling her fragrance from the
nape of her neck. His mind came to inspect every inch
of her thoughts, conversations fraught with
exploration and circumspections.

So her call was an expected surprise. Both foolish
and wise, he accepted her invitation, drawn by her
flirtation like an ant to sugar; put her in a vision
that had one arm around her waist, one cradling her
head to taste her lips like chocolate mousse. He used
his fingers like eyes, looking into each and every
pore, one by one exploring her nerve endings. The tip
of his nose was sending shockwaves from her shoulder
blades to her ass, hips and navel. Tension running
like a cable from ankle to ankle looped through her
groin.

Going down with kisses, from Adam’s apple to swollen
nipples, dark and crinkled, her chest heaving, breath
leaving, breasts believing they were being gently
nursed for mother’s milk. She was weak for a man of
his ilk: clever, charming, sensitive, disarming,
sensuous, alarming. He was everything her devout
mother warned her about.

So, as his lips and snout began to rout and nip at her
abdomen, she tensed in pain and pleasure, devoured her
at his leisure. His tongue used as a measuring tape,
he stopped at her navel, her orgasm his brand, her
label, like nuclear material, her senses unstable,
legs began to tremble as his groin-placed kisses dis-
and re-assembled her from outer lips to painted toes.
She asked herself “how did he know” as he worked back
to her apex, her reflexes disconnected as his tongue
tip softly flicked her engorged clit.

He made circles, squares and parabola, letters,
numbers; no box could hold diabolique, a roiling
inferno. His technique, tongue slick, lips sucked
lips, lapping her slick juices from her pulsing
cabinet. He delved his fingers into her cupboard,
feeling her smooth, pounding flesh, reaching deep to
discover what it really takes to be her lover.

One orgasm after another left her hovering off the
bed, every inch of her body converged in her head as
he sucked and pulled. His works had fueled a climax
that ripped her nerves apart, body spasmed in fits and
starts. In the end all she saw was stars, and heard
the waterfall pounding of her own beating heart.

In her earth bound descent, feather falling downward
crescents, she didn’t realize the next rising moment,
fomenting new unrest. Her lack of consciousness found
it hard to digest his girlfriend’s entry into their
room, candlelit and moist. She watched as he hoisted
his girlfriend above him on her haunches, lower her
pussy down onto his tongue, watched her launched off
to orgasmic planet, quivering seizure signet of
pending interstellar travel.

She was mesmerized as she watched his girlfriend break
his lock, impale his cock, that first stroke slapped
like a gavel. She stared as if on an Olympic panel,
analyzing their performance, his swollen prick
enormous and glistening. She found herself listening
to every sound, their grunts, her squeals, how her
cunt grabbed and gripped his steel, lips draped over
his cock like mango peels, thick and oozing.

Watching them, she could feel the gasps of her
inhalations break, her voyeurism prompted hunger to
snake back into her vaginal walls. Clenching
undulation was the carnal call she could not ignore
and had to answer. Stroking, massaging and frigging
her clit, she was her own private dancer. These two
romanced her with eyes of invitation. She realized
his machinations were preparation for her to make the
decision for the step she was about to take. She
eased off the brake, courage waking as she rolled onto
her side, continuing to watch him slide into his
girlfriend, cock slick, veins pulsing, her mind was a
whirlwind.

This close she could see his skin glistening, the heat
between them blistering, the look in their eyes
whispering; so close, smelling their sex was like
listening to their cells exploding. Girlfriend’s
moans were loading aching lust into her erogenous
zones. As he flipped her, she could hear joints and
bones crack, as his thick dick packed her soft sack.
Starting at his shoulder, she gently ran her hand
along his rising and falling back, sweat profuse under
her hand to his ass. His skin was moist yet smooth
like glass.

Each stroke of his prick between his girlfriend’s
hungry lips, she could feel his muscles slowly bunch,
she tightened her grip, his cheeks two hard round
masses. She touched the girlfriend’s thighs and felt
orgasms crashing like waves on rocks, that touch
unlocked her own waiting cum, the sum of all the
sensations, the sight of them fucking, smell nature’s
lubrication, the sound of hips colliding and groans of
elation, the taste of her own secretions she scooped
out of her pussy with trembling fingers.

When they saw her eating her own pussy juice, their
own climax let loose, flooding every nerve and vein,
flooded and drained, screams exclaimed the ecstasy
that reigned between them. The steam between them
stoked another climax for her, body shook violently,
eyes blurred as her twat clamped down on her fingers.
Wave after wave, her tremor lingered until the only
thing she heard came in threes, heart beats, moans and
midnight breezes.

by Ron Horne


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Friday, October 27, 2006

American Dream

At the age of eighteen
I bit my way
through my mother's womb
and was born, bald and bloody.

I sharpen my teeth
with sandpaper in the shadows
waiting for the drunks
outside the Redskin game.

After a rough night
(no pussy, no food, cold as a dead man's shit)
I knock back twelve straight shots
of a Bible salesman's blood.

I steal a rusty motorcycle
outside of Hell, Michigan.
After one hundred miles
the towns blend like watercolors.

Wake up in Vegas in the Fall,
strung out on whale tranquilizers.
The strip lights illuminate
the semen on my jeans.

Trade the hog in for a Cadillac
with a rotting gangster in the trunk
and drive it off a cliff, lemming style,
diving out before the cliff's edge.

I watch the sun set,
vultures swooping over the cities
as we kill and fuck and laugh
our way to the American Dream

by Sean Frasier


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Thursday, October 26, 2006

Sometimes I wake at night
frozen with fear
that if I masterbate
I will shatter.

by Zac Hayes


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Wednesday, October 25, 2006

69'

No not that 69-1969
I remember the way the mimeograph machine copies smelled in 3rd grade
I remember staying out all day-no cell phones
I remember my mother calling me from blocks away for dinner
I remember feeling up the neighborhood girls
I remember licking bald pussy’s
I remember throwing snowballs at cars with rocks in them
I remember walking to school
I remember not doing anything in school except recess
I remember black & white TV
I remember Batman…
I remember landing on the moon
I remember Viet Nam
I remember the simplicity and chaos of it all-

I remember smoking pot when I was 11
Riding mini-bikes in the woods-

Being a kid was really being a kid
This world is fucked up
I’m sending this poem via e-fucking mail
I remember stamps, and waiting for a letter like it was Christmas
I remember Christmas with all my family
Now there is no one left
Now technology fucked the kids

They will never be kids again-

by Ron Cervero


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Tuesday, October 24, 2006

Public Shitter

someone is grunting

in a stall

next to me

like a pig

pushing shit

with vocal effort

“All done!” he announces as he flushes and leaves.

he didn’t wash his hands

then silence

still hungover

hiding out in the shitter

I decide to give grunting a shot

more silence

nothing.

by Michael Conrad


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Monday, October 23, 2006

PC

When I worked at Social Services
we didn't have 'tea- breaks',
no, because management said 'tea'
smacked of colonialism
we had 'comfort-stops'.
Wrote on 'chalk' not 'black'-boards,
called females 'women',
not 'ladies' due to sexual connotations:
'ladies of the night' apparently.
There were gay,lesbian
and trans-gender groups,
and a memo circulated
about toilets being turned
because they faced Mecca.
When I worked at Social Services
it was incredibly PC;
your every utterance
and action watched
by the word-police,
who loved to see you sweat,
so long as it wasn't
like a paedo in a playground.......................

by Christopher Major


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Sunday, October 22, 2006

Through TIME and SPACE

When this whole world,
Let's you down.
And you're left standing
On hallowed ground,
Without a weapon,
Without a shield.
When we were born,
Our fate was sealed.

I long to be there,
My old friend.
I long to hold you
Till the end.
But there is nothing,
I can do.
But keep your memory,
And pray for you.

As the Battle rages all around,
And your way too tired to sleep,
When the highest mountains
Come tumbling down,
And the future lies at your feet.

I would lie for you,
I would die for you.
I will never do you wrong,
I'll be a fool for you,
I'll be a tool for you,
Yet somehow,
I'll be strong.

When they're climbing
Our castle wall.
When our armies
Begin to fall,

Don't go gently,
From my embrace,
For I will love you,
Through time and space.

by Mark S. Brown


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Saturday, October 21, 2006

Higher Education?

Intellectual bootcamp ?
Mental masturbation ?
Regurgitating thousand-year-old text ?

How about a cash fuckin’ cow ?
Knowing that you can fit a large family in your ass, and
wondering why it hurts!

Get 80K in debt
A professional career awaits
With a bunch of assholes you hated your whole life ?

In retrospect – build a cabin –
Buy a used typewriter & smoke a lot of pot !

by Ron Cervero


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Friday, October 20, 2006

The Sound of a Cocky Alert

Whoop! Whoop! That’s the sound of a cocky alert.
Whoop! Whoop! That’s the sound of a cocky alert.
Why did I drink whisky?
Do Cocaine, and eat at Crif Dogs?
Why is Bed-Stuy so far from the Lower East Side?
Why is my ass clenched so tight Jude Law couldn’t fuck it?
Please! Old Man!
Give me those Depends!
Quickly, ‘lest this G Train turn into a Port-O-Potty.
You! Yuppie! Hand me the cork,
From that fine bottle of wine!
I’m in need of a plug to hold back this fly-arrhea!
Franklin Ave.?
Surely, those fancy jeans will be soiled by Myrtle-Willoughby.
Still, I would do more coke if given the opportunity,
And a chance to hide these shit stains, from the Nordic
College soccer player, who insists on following me home,
In golden light, the avatar of L.L. Cool J appears.
‘Explosion. Overpowering’.

by Mike Dolan


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Thursday, October 19, 2006

A Trillion Years Ago

Voices in his head
Dead memories reborn
Cerebral nerves untie
& slowly
the horde of thoughts
begin their commute
towards the Metropolis of
a sullen mental state

Suddenly...

Visions of Carnival Sluts
Circus Cocks in knots & chains
Pathetic emulations of ego static masturbation
Pathogenic degeneration & dinner

(A detour into the subconscious)

Scenes of hedonism
Urchins and hemophiliacs
Bleeding arbitrary fluids onto my
Newborn grandstand

Underneath the bleachers
disease & flies
Lack of sex
& Mc Donald's fries
These are truly Roman times

I digress...

He blinks away temptation
Incalculable fate and reason
How could you ever expect to understand?
His Trillion eyes were an abacus

If he were a tree...

He would be a weeping willow
because he is always weeping
Weeping because he has
the green disease on his sleeve

I'm not referring to little gods
Ghosts who fell short a Trillion years ago

For I know all about the false profits
obscured by history
I've felt the wicked winter of men
Polished lies beneath the cloak of wisdom

Lately I've been thinking...

Nature has fallen
Now her Satyrs dance for gold
and not just for the sake of
the epic fantasy
To keep the forest clean and mighty

Hemostats and gauze
The wounded bleeding trees
Glazed in sap and amber
Screaming silent chords of agony

(Abruptly, he stops and turns to confront me)

"What's your problem, man?
Why are you following me?"

"Stop pretending!" He shouts

"You are not me!"

"You don't have a Trillion years
Grow up and evolve already
Stop being such a drag"

I'm not referring to little gods
Ghosts who fell short a Trillion years ago

by Aaron Rutten


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Wednesday, October 18, 2006

Cocaine and Anal Sex

Cocaine and Anal Sex
They really do not mix
They lead to blood and bleeding
And cleaning shit from upon the sheets

The night began as normal
A bar on 1st and 12th
When I met a Puerto Rican
Who had some coke to sell

She in stormy corset
With fishnet panty hose
The author in vinyl pants
With ring around the nose

Her bosom burst like fireworks
From beneath its latex jail
My erection strained the vinyl
Threatening to impale

The lights swam upon the fetish gear
We worked so hard to get inside
‘Can I have another bump?’
She whispered in my ear

Holding hands we charged the bathroom
Like so many Pamplona bulls
The blow went up our noses
And shot right out our skulls

‘Pour some on my breasts
And lay your face between
Such a shame to waste that coke
Be sure to lick them clean’

A sight unseen, we burst the doors
A wet Manhattan night
‘I hope you’ve got a hardon stranger
As my pussy’s just so tight’

The Manhattan Bridge went by
Seen from a cab’s back seat
Her come fuck me’s in my vinyl crotch
The driver could feel the heat

‘How far’s your apartment stranger
I don’t think I’ll last’
‘Six more blocks, six more blocks
Put your hand on my perfect little ass’

The driver smiled knowingly
While we stumbled up the stairs
‘Oh there’s one my thing
I just shaved my pubic hair’

She poured coke into my cock hole
And I into her cunt
Then we 69’d
A Valentino worthy stunt

So many fingers probing
Every dirty place
My heart had just quit beating
When she sat upon my face

Some planets dropped from orbit
And Hades might have froze
So, when stranger slapped my face
Her blow just curled my toes

We wailed and clawed like banshees
Sucking off the dead
Ripped our clothes, scared the dog
And popped the waterbed

She said, ‘It’s time for one more line
Then now just take me deep’
Lines were cut – up they went
Sometimes chemicals taste so sweet

‘Put it in my ass’
We both yelled at the same time
Make me yours, I’ll make you mine
That just came out in rhyme

Then a sound was heard
A rumbling near my balls
Something happened quite unique
A bloody diarrhea Niagra Falls

It coated all our privates
Clogged our pubic hair
Flew upon the walls
From her alabaster derriere

Now let this be a warning
To all and sundry present
Butt fucking and blow just don’t mix
And I have learned my lesson

by Mike Dolan


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Tuesday, October 17, 2006

Crackle goes the wang

this morning I shit the bed and out flew several live babies, all different colors of the rainbow.

I didn’t really know what to do, so I organized them into small groups and set them about making crafts (especially fresh oranges with cloves arranged in them in designs)

learning to speak

how to organize a fascist government

playing musical instruments.

the yellow baby couldn’t play any instruments and it’s voice was shit

what to do?

“please to leave her behind whilst touring?” said the green baby.

hmmm

mayhap not a bad idea.

“no no,” said the purple “let’s set her aflame ‘ere we take to the stage.”

which i believed to be the best idea.

the anticipation was pungent as the roadies set up the gear

all the lights went out and a hush fell over the crowd

shik

shik

shik

and the yellow baby spuh-loaded into fire and screams

the traveling all-star baby band kicked out significant jams

and the arena stank of burning cock.

by Boots Blackwell


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Monday, October 16, 2006

44

I’m 44 and going to art school
That’s all I ever loved anyway
Why did I get a science degree
Why business and an MBA
That life eats my balls
Stuck with fucking backstabbing fucks
They steal your dreams
They kill a part of you that once lived
So now at 44 i’m done and going to art school
Everyone tells me how smart I am with one breath
And go fuck yourself with the other
I just needed to be brought up
I did a shitty job trying to do it on my own
I’m not that smart
Just smart enough to know that I hate people--

by Ron Cervero


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Sunday, October 15, 2006

Cross-Reference to Purify

I found this story I wrote,
a memoir
and in them were my underpants
I had soiled them
and boy,
maybe it was cathartic to write this
and sure,
it had characters, and plot
it was detailed
with action, well-paced
there were adjectives used
to great effect
someone felt sorry for that little girl
me, I reached into the screen
pulled out those drawers
took a big whiff
then as though I could not help myself
I turned those panties inside out
smeared that feces
across the eggshell color walls
We inscribed a new tale
Eat Shit
it said
pretty simple,
I thought
Eat Shit

by Michele McDannold
http://www.myspace.com/oneldamnit


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Saturday, October 14, 2006

K. B. Toys

No I’m not talking ‘bout that other toy store
I’m talking ‘bout “my” toy store.
K. B. Toys is always open.
Weekdays, weekends, vacations…
At my store, you can have whatever you hoping.
This store aims to please.
Pure customer satisfaction is guaranteed!
Whatever you need
K. B. Toys has it indeed.
From 38 batteries in size Ds
To 5 feet 6 inches of figurines,
K. B. has lots of play things.
Head spinners, eye rollers, hip swingers,
Leg gadgets, and toe curlers.
At K. B. Toys we’ll fulfill your dreams.
We got toys that even make ice cream.
K. B. Toys has toys full of sound
Mmmmmm….
Toys that go round and round,
Up and down.
These toys are not designed to leave frowns,
But to stimulate when you’re down.
Oh yes! They’ll make you get up.
Touch buttons, pull strings
Go from spot to spot
Admiring what we’ve got.
We encourage your boys
To play at K. B. Toys.
‘Cause this place is hot!
It’s the number 1 spot!

by Kiselar Brumfield


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Friday, October 13, 2006

I remember thinking it pathetic
The way I smelled your pillow
The way I ran my nose the length of your mattress
I thought myself a fool
Because it was not only your sweat
Your body odor
The desperate stench of morning
The imposing sun
The creases in your sheets
I’m idiot because this was not created by you and I
But by you and another.

by Jon Melamed


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Thursday, October 12, 2006

Pssssssttttt

Initially they were funny.
Stories of you answering
the door wearing nothing
but last nights glob filled durex;
or the infamous phone vid-
settled on the toilet spewing
into ankle dropped boxer shorts.
Finding you, jacket singed,
leaning on the 2 bar fire,
bed-sit sweltering, drum-tight,
til a window's opened to
the psssttt of your next can.
Yeah, initially they were funny.
Fat Ernie
fucking you the night
your fiancé left,
sharing crabs with a whiskey quart,
and me asking "Why?"
as you curled a questionmark
on the same fetid bed
now propped in the yard,
surface a burnt charred
Rorschach Mark,
interpreted locally as:
an illness,
a weakness,
a drunken cunt..............................

by Chris Major


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Wednesday, October 11, 2006

Life Lessons

At what age did I learn
To take off my clothes?
When did I learn
To suck one of those?
Where did I learn
To spread my legs?
Who taught me how
A little one begs?

by Sarah Elisabeth Rogers


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Tuesday, October 10, 2006

The Monkey Sprite Magician

I chase a monkey down the street
And let one fly into a dumpster
One what? You may say?
A cloud of bowel air destined for an exorcist
I envision it green and lingering
Burning the lining of my nostrils
Sniff sniff

I have eaten two pounds of beans in a week’s time
To wallow in this stench
Repetitive and repugnant the gas is released
As I chase a monkey down the street
Shaking my fist at him with a grunt
He turns his head glancing back at me
Grinning forward and intentional
Cackling at my misfortune

These intestinal expulsions are the cause
Of this monkey sprite magician
With a wave of his wand
My beans become colon bullets
Gas canisters dropped into my food to enact a war
inside me
I am the innocent victim from the stench that rises

The mustard cloud that waits
Then escapes from my needing to adjust my bed covers
Surprising me, startling me from spiritual
contemplation
With its vomitous foul odor

Just a reminder that my body still works

What a blunt awakening in this now when the smell
startles
I am taken prisoner by this invisible phantom
Who is heralded in his abrupt arrival
With a blowing of the trumpet

Announced in a musical tone
Shocking the ears that it’s notes fall upon
Destroying reputations in a quick surprised motion

Pouncing from its birth it lingers then sways
Floating away on an unfortunate breeze
With wishes of finding a nose gone astray
And polluting its owner with visions and reminders of
the flesh
Housing meets machine in this spirit container

I sit and read
Devouring words of high meaning
But I feel tossing gas pockets becoming one with
each other
Building in size
Knowing there is strength in numbers
Release is certain
As the countdown begins

A great shift is felt suddenly
Then unplanned for and as swift as Mercury
The trumpet again sounds the arrival
Of the green phantom
My mediation is broken
My thoughts torn away

I am toppled from my lofty conceptual heights by
this explosion
Re-connected with my body
To reap an inhalation of remembrance

What was once so inviting and desirable
Beans and rice
Has now been transformed into something quite
different
Somewhere on its long and strange journey
This moment was predestined
Each event a springboard into another
That led to this rebirth
From solids into air
Carrying a whiff of sarcasm toward me
The one who devoured them
They have the final say in this debate
No need for words to explain
Only the trumpets blast
And the senses of smell and taste

Our nostrils have all been invaded by the food of
metamorphosis
Food that was once so desirable
Transformed into a monster
By our own bowels we created it
Yet it surprises us still

by Matthew Manning


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Monday, October 09, 2006

SUPERSIZE THIS

I really miss the supersized number 3

But those fat people ruined it for me

They filled up on it each and every day

Until McDonalds had to take it away

But don't blame them for their perfect fries

Blame Morgan Sperlock and his vat of lies

Obesity isn't hereditary or a disease

It's a choice to eat everything that they please

Whether it's beer or chips or cheese or cake

Or eight buttered rolls along with their steak

Try to walk to the store, then see how you feel

Remember that a crispy crème is not a meal

If you can resist food, give your back a nice pat

And remember guys don't like girls who are fat

by Adam Gagne


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Sunday, October 08, 2006

Staci Loves Bryce

Staci is not turned off by Bryce’s irritable bowel syndrome
she laughs when he farts
it does not offend Staci that Bryce eats his boogers
and jacks off to cartoon porn
Staci could care less that Bryce demands blow jobs
but refuses to eat her pussy
Staci likes the fact that Bryce drives a canary yellow Xterra
Staci loves Bryce’s Abercrombie & Fitch shirts
and the denim jeans that conceal Bryce’s three inch dick
Staci is all about Bryce’s American Express and Discover cards
Staci’s parents and friends are pleased with Bryce
“You are, like, soooo lucky!” says Heather, Staci’s best friend
since first grade
Staci doesn’t have a cunt or a spirit.
She has perfect salon hair and sorority credentials.
Staci plus Bryce equals love forever.

by Misti Rainwater-Lites


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Saturday, October 07, 2006

Selfish Bitch

You throw me to the floor.
You kick me, and I bleed.
You don't stop while I cry.
Your twisted witch face
screaming down at me,
I took your life away.

I'm not the selfish bitch who couldn't close her legs.
I'm not the whore who fucked a degenerate,
then gave birth to his victim.

You whore! You even got jealous.
You glared and seethed at me
like I was taking your man,
so you beat me for any reason.
Then, for no reason at all.

Can I have dinner? Nope.
Got to have money to drink
tonight. Whore.
Can I have school money?
Sure, let me feel your light furry
pussy first. Let me see your
tiny tits. Degenerate, pervert, pedophile.

You both should have your skin
flayed from you.
You should hang upside down 
and have shit thrown at you.
 
Two evil pathetic creatures.
The only thing you could do
was fuck and drink.

You selfish twat.
You threw me in a pit
of poverty, disgrace and
humiliation
to crawl out of myself;
to become someone
myself.
 
Yes, the hate just drips
from me like drool,
like the blood in my veins.
Salvation for me.
My hatred
only drips
on you.

by kmcfly


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Friday, October 06, 2006

Candor

Set sights to be a major female inventor.
Write the country's first great long poem.
Conduct the choir to greatness.
Love our children into learning.
Fill our galleries and decorate our homes.
Preach us into our finest states of grace.
Entertain us with a thousand dances, plays and
movies.
Design our clothes, dress our hair,
and in America, darling, you'll still be
just a queer.

by Louie Crew


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Thursday, October 05, 2006

GETTING OFF MOUNT RUSHMORE

i once got dumped
with my head
still between a woman's legs.

"there's someone else,"
she said.
my tongue stopped;

my eyes opened.
through the underbrush,
between two peaks,

i saw her face--
like her words--
chiseled in stone.

by Mark Barkawitz


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Wednesday, October 04, 2006

I've Been Picking at My Nipples Lately

When I'm home alone,
I stand shirtless
in front of the mirror
that's attached to the outside
of my bathroom door.

I begin by sticking push-pins
through each nipple-tip.

Usually,
only a small amount of blood,
if any,
is produced.

Once the pins are removed,
the nipples begin to swell and sting.

At this point, rubbing alcohol
is applied with one-inch cubes
of pink fiberglass insulation.

It's important to use
a vigorous scrubbing motion.

I suck air through the cracks
in my clenched teeth.

The nipples and the surrounding skin
should be nice and red by now.

A note about which picking instrument
is the best: I have always, and will always,
use an ice pick, preferably one
made in America in the 1920s or earlier.

by J. D. Nelson


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Tuesday, October 03, 2006

Summer Seduction Series: Wine, Sin, and Dorian

I read your mind
like it was a trashy novella,
with young, married Dorian
falling for mysterious rebel Clark
and deepthroating him in the garage
until she coughed up his spunk
while clueless hubby Franklin
busies himself with some butter
and the thin end of a flashlight
down in the basement.

I read every page of your mind,
sure I could stop at any moment,
repulsed and, just maybe,
the tiniest bit intrigued
with what your sick fucking mind
would think up next.

Then you break the silence
and tell me you've been reading
my mind too, and you've never,
ever, seen someone do that
with a spatula before.

And to a soundtrack
of finger-banged cunts
and the whisper of asshole openings
I decide I might support book burning.
Under the right circumstances,
of course.

by Sean Frasier


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Monday, October 02, 2006

Chewy The Heroin-Addicted Chihuahua

Chewy don't need no big brain barter,
She's at 100% of that shot.
Chewy lives free without a collar,
Excitement at your feet she's not.

Tremorless not yapping,
Perfectly addicted, reigning.
By design her napping,
In the food, chaining.

Here girl,
Wheet wheet.
Here girl.

Chewy wakes and sniffs,
Pees a catbox listless.
Chewy takes a big whiff,
Leaves a catbox shiftless.

Here girl...

Chewy waits for the hand.
Snaps it twice and stands,
Mmm skin and blood and can,
Chewygirl here, Superman.

by Tony Roberson


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Sunday, October 01, 2006

The Mighty Uterus

The uterus is a funny thing,
It isn't good for much.
It isn't nice to look at, or pleasant to the touch.
It gives us cramps and spasms,
If you poke it, it may bleed -
And yet the mighty uterus
Is something most girls need.
They say it is a blessing,
They say it is a curse,
But I say having testicles
Is two or three times worse!
The uterus is hidden,
And gets prescription drugs.
The balls hang low for public view,
Crotch itch, and pubic bugs.
The testicles get sat upon
And rubbed by Levi seams.
Their lot in life is perilous,
But uteri have dreams!

By Hedi Murray


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