Wednesday, February 20, 2008

stained

they multiply nine times nine
in cults and gangs
they all wanna
gangbang her up the filthy walls
CUM ONE CUM ALL!
to watch the magic seep out of her
fantasy bleeds out of her
boys and girls step right up
to fuck the girl of the moment
she'll razzle you she'll dazzle you
and make you feel like your the only person who exists
its her gift
CUM ONE CUM ALL!
cum pussies and cowards
drug users and killers
heartbreakers and moneymakers
to make a circus of her infections
and diseases its easy you see
lock the doors as she screams
her demons won't let her break free.

by Desiree Santos


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Tuesday, February 19, 2008

ART: ...he leaves me in stitches


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Monday, February 18, 2008

Twilight in the Afternoon

we like taking away
all that we gave
if it keeps us up
like the restless air
that bubbled with effervescence
slowly riding the edge high
until it hit the open
with ready acceptance
sparkling through a lime infusion
a glance at a random shot
has you hitting me up
I’m on the auction block
yet I’ve no want
for any suitor here
I cover my eyes
to hide my disappointment
battle me bastards
I get lost when you
put up a fight
offering to fly me south
to check out your skills
at a traveling trade show
I’ll decline to take lodging
with a spunky Jewish gem
celebrating weekly Shabbat
fueling my fire with
a delicate air of curiosity
roll me over
let’s take this to the bed
waking with the beginning
of my beautiful lucid dream
where my greatest passion
came back for one more fling
to shudder at my longing
as I shut him out
to keep the chase alive
it feels so real
when dawn bites bitter
whipping winds frozen
as I close my eyes
and struggle to find the light
we can’t all fall
into love so easily
don’t set me an example
unless you make one of me
parched and dried
I’m more than willing to see
everything nonexistent
but I cannot accept the reality
of anyone else’s feelings
I know too well
what it all means
and how it will end
so let’s bring this fever
to a soft simmer
we’ll have more fun
teasing the game into infinity
than closing the deal
forcing my boredom
to take a stroll
away from your covers
into the arms of the opposite sex
whose only contribution
comes from a single point
jabbing into my
truth sensation
the only lie
that will never ring false

by Kate Green


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Sunday, February 17, 2008

MY WOMAN

My woman has the most imperfect specimen.
But as far as I‘m concerned, it doesn’t really matter.
In fact, I’m satisfied by what I get from her.
So much so, I look forward to it, again and again.

by A.J. Chilson


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Saturday, February 16, 2008

first recognition

blindly fucking other men to get to you
we masquerade this is a fucking
masquerade to feel you to taste your
poison we are poisoned
you and i and i
cant cut this tie we made.
in this nightmare there are storms
in this place we are dead.
everything is dead.
and water fills your eyes
your skin is pale and you're shaking
my body's cold headfirst i fall--
for you i fall
off the ledge.
away from you
everything turns to fire
and i bury the ashes under these words
because your demons your sins
they fight me and i cant fight back
but i try with nothing
no weapons nothing
my hands are tied
and as i lay to rest you
penetrate the stake so deep in me you
betray me so cleverly
that even children would look on and smile.

by Desiree Santos


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Friday, February 15, 2008

when we fuck

when we fuck
corpses watch us,
men all of them
and they fondle each other
sometimes, this i'm not sure
i quite like,
they have no business to clutch
their stiff dead limbs
within the subjugating discourse
of my consummate heterosexualism,
and i wish they'd stop it,
it's distressing but faintly erotic
like everything else about death
and the nothing that cums next

the suicidal nipple and the predictable
sin, herpetic skin and dildos
in angel's bums, and all their
second cummings, mummy,
baby Jesus licking that fishy stink
from his fingers, those loathsome
loaves of his love -

and all i wanted to do was fuck

by David McLean


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Monday, February 11, 2008

ART: Don't Mess With Grandma


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Coitus

True power,
true force,
is able to be found in great supply in a thought.
A realization.
A coming to terms with the fact,
however harsh it may seem at first,
that all our experiences,
everything we seem to share
with others on any level,
is limited to our own deciphering
of the information that our senses impart.
How can we ever be sure
that anyone actually feels the same?
All we could seem to hope for
is some vague sense of shared ambiguous pleasure,
and this is quite possibly the reason that
fucking
is held in such high regard.

by Chuck Endsley


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Saturday, February 09, 2008

MY FATHER'S CAR

Slanted rays of the late afternoon sun
gild the dust motes emancipated from
the mohair cushions by my sudden settling,
intrusive and possessively on their long tranquil couch.
Rising in the reddened rays they dance
in chaotic patterns, like miniature
birds rising up from their cover.
Some invade my nostrils with traces and places
of my father, hinting of sojourns
with his beloved Buick while he could still possess
his share of the highways,
and of his furtive sessions behind the wheel,
pretending the state would still let him drive.
I smell fragments of chocolate kisses from
floating flakes of untwisted tin foil wrapped
around his forbidden, high cholesterol treats
he had hidden in the glove compartment,
but from whom?
Mother, already gone, no longer policed his diet,
and his progeny were too engrossed
in our obligations and his grandchildren
to monitor the poisoning of his blood
from risky treats nor would we forbid
occasional life shortening cigars,
we could taste with his kisses.
I could not smell one wisp of tobacco smoke
here in his refuge from a youthful society,
so I realize he would not poison its upholstery
with the tell-tale tarry smoke that
had tortured and surmounted his lungs.
I copied the mileage from the odometer
so I could place an ad in the paper,
extolling Dad's treasured Fleetmaster's
low mileage and pristine condition
on the back of a receipt for a casket
and blurred the numbers with fresh tears
How could I sell his car?
Why did we not seat Dad in his beloved Chevrolet
and bury them together in the ground instead
of in a satin lined funerary box
wearing a suit that no longer fit?

by Gerald Bosacker


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Friday, February 08, 2008

SUCK ME DRY

Bobble headed salesmen marching up Main Street handing out coupons advertising value prices on heart attacks at McFatty's.

High gloss fliers overflowing my mail box offering deals on cheap hideous crap I don't want keep shoving it down my throat.

Be smart shop at Wal-Smart buy our crap made in China half price on shit you don't need we underpay employees so you can pay less.

Conglomorate sales pitches beamed down from satalites realigned numerically in the stupid machine can't change the channel suck me dry.

Anorexic bitches selling diet pills speed faster go faster all-in-one exorcise machine folds easily stored under fat bastard's couch can't stop cramming ding-dongs in his face.

Buy our SUV air bags so safe own the road soccer moms drive mini vans with highest saftey ratings other cars will kill your families you can't live with that guilt.

Cotton blood pluggers with wings and strings anti itch new car smell vagina washer get clean I want a brownie yeah she's bleeding from her hole.

Four out of five doctors agree you're stupid buy our pills you're gonna die feeling sad is abnormal behavior take more pills side effects may include chemical lobotomy suck me dry.

Buy more shit crap you don't want or need buy a piece of america own the dream sqeeze my wallet take my green backs suck me dry.

Don't want your cheap shit your garbage made by ten year olds in Taiwan sweat shop soccer balls check mark on a shoe.

Welcome to america Corporation of america work cheap buy large buy it now while supplies last The corporation of america We own you suck me dry.

by The Mad Hatter


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