Friday, August 28, 2009

DON’T BLAME THE CABBAGE

I am a cabbage connoisseur,
a cabbage attorney, admirer,
and devoted loyal follower.

I have fiercely defended
cabbages in various cabbage
courts of law and I tell you--
cabbage is not the criminal,
not the evil gastrological culprit.

I formally acquit this noble vegetable
of any and all wrongdoing, especially
of causing endless vile spewing
of unnatural foul gases from
all your aristocratic
gatling-gun-like-asses.

by Joseph Roque


reddit Digg Mixx Fark Google Bookmark Facebook Twitter StumbleUpon del.icio.us Technorati

Thursday, August 27, 2009

No Name Stay

Sitting on a bar stool in a well lit night club
I begin to think
Drinking my beer
Watching two likeable people playing a game of pool
I begin to think
Thinking of the woman who played my heart
Like a neurotic percussionists
A friend comes up to me wanting to fight
To be offended
I look at him and smile
Take a swig off my beer and think
It's three in the morning
People are still running about
I'm still in the same bar stool where
I was five hours ago
Fourteenth beer
Still thinking.

by Anthony Granato


reddit Digg Mixx Fark Google Bookmark Facebook Twitter StumbleUpon del.icio.us Technorati

Tuesday, August 25, 2009

ASS-EX GIRLS

“Ass-ex girls” are those cute cotton-tailed goslings
Whose buttocks remind your ex-girlfriend’s haunch.
Their hip swinging is torturous – your arm almost flings in…
But wouldn’t (society disapproves it; says “it’s too much”)

But hell with the customs! Sometimes I just say: "Lady"
(While holding her hands and synchronizing our chins)
"Your bottom reminds me of Happiness… Allow me
To at least once more experience it under your jeans."

The best part is that I always find compassion.
Minimum a smile, and not a single smack hitherto.
Perhaps my ideal forms in the latest designer fashion
Remind them of their lost happiness... too?

by Arty Shock


reddit Digg Mixx Fark Google Bookmark Facebook Twitter StumbleUpon del.icio.us Technorati

BITCHCRAFT

A woman I once met
Introduced me to some women
Who gathered
Once weekly
At a Water Street hotel
With their needles
And their thread
Heavy scents and girly gossip
And it all seemed rather I don’t know
Until they started sewing
Up
Each other
Yes, that’s what I said
Together, I mean
In a ring of screaming needle-point
And—that could not be—laughter

Well, I ran so fast
That I even lost my socks
And got a splinter
From the banister
That I still can’t get out

Sometime later
I walked into her
And
Rightly or wrongly
I decided to go stomping back
And put them
In their place

I now go back there
Every Tuesday
And almost enjoy the healing
Quite as much as
I do feeling
That I’ve found
A cloth embrace

by Walter Conley


reddit Digg Mixx Fark Google Bookmark Facebook Twitter StumbleUpon del.icio.us Technorati

Sunday, August 23, 2009

It Was About Pleasing Myself.

The lady I jerked off about last night
is off work, sick today.
There seems to be guilt inside me,
as if the sordid thoughts
I had about her
have made her physically sick.

by Matt Roberts


reddit Digg Mixx Fark Google Bookmark Facebook Twitter StumbleUpon del.icio.us Technorati

Friday, August 21, 2009

God’s Bribes

How often have I heard people
tell me of their blessings from God
and equally often have I wondered about that!
I’ve been hard up for money at times
and had to work odd jobs
or find supplemental income in garbage bins
and other places where refuse finds refuge –
anything I could use, I would use
and anything I could sell, I’d sell.
Some would say God was blessing me
by directing me to those garbage bins
where useful things had been discarded
and there may well have been a time
I was inclined to believe that.
But I’ve also found money lying on the streets
and been told that money is the root of all evil –
Ah, then those gifts could not be of God
but of the evil one they call “Satan”
for why would God bless me with evil things?
I’ve thought about this some more –
and concluded that both are vying for my attention,
giving me rejects and crumbs from a crumbling society
built upon the dreams of two powerful divinities,
two powerful enemies; two “divine” and utter fools
who would destroy a world and everything in it
in their insane quest for control.
It’s truly an interesting concept –
that what we assume are blessings
are really nothing more than bribes,
little ones for those who need little,
big ones for those who lust for power.
Of course, there is a simpler explanation:
I got off my ass and went looking so I wouldn’t go hungry?
Try that on for size.

by Sharran WindWalker


reddit Digg Mixx Fark Google Bookmark Facebook Twitter StumbleUpon del.icio.us Technorati

A SMALL TOWN

The earth lay flat with horizons
stretched like armies yawning morning
into awake as sky of creeping clouds
hung like curtains wet from storms,
while a river below crawled
wide and flowing thick with brown
pushing a quiet power past the town.

by Roger G. Singer


reddit Digg Mixx Fark Google Bookmark Facebook Twitter StumbleUpon del.icio.us Technorati

Thursday, August 20, 2009

HELLRAISER

Well... It's over...

The world burning
smoke clouds into night.

You were my last chance
to keep the succulent fire from spreading.

Now, I'm one of the numerous
heaping myself into piles of ash.

Why didn't you stop me?

Did I burn your skin
pink?

by Stephen Williams


reddit Digg Mixx Fark Google Bookmark Facebook Twitter StumbleUpon del.icio.us Technorati

The Death of Me

The tips of my fingers are sweet,
like my Grandfather’s pipe
on winter mornings in 1982.
The snap of a lighter
makes my throat itch,
and the sizzle is as if heaven
existed in a small bowl, ethereal red.

I obsess on that sound and smell
for every minute of the day, until
the warm hits my lungs
and snakes through my body.
Heavy eyelids weigh on my thoughts
and my shell sinks beneath me.

A small knot wrangles the sweat from my pores,
my mind begins to flood with paranoia, drowning
in my own shallow breaths: “I can’t breathe!”
“Wait, the air is thick in here! Am I dying?”
The room is tight, closing in—
with residue of my eventual death.

The next morning I awake
from the slow cessation of life.
Staring at the ink etched into my arm,
seared like a cattle brand onto my brain,
the comforting knowledge of Syrus:
*“stultum est timere quod vitare non potes”.
And, my death continues…

by Brad Pickett


reddit Digg Mixx Fark Google Bookmark Facebook Twitter StumbleUpon del.icio.us Technorati

Tuesday, August 11, 2009

February, 1987

She had too many tattoos. Enormous, ugly Rorschach blots on her outer thighs, covering her back, her ass, her paunchy stomach. Sometimes it turned me off, all that ink covering her thick skin, but I fucked her anyway. She called the radio station one night. She told me she was twenty-four and home alone fingering herself to the sound of my voice. I ran the board, reading live commercials and weather forecasts during breaks from six incessant hours of syndicated right wing talk radio. We talked for a while on the studio hotline while I stacked carts for the morning guy. When my shift ended at six I drove crazy mad, high on pussy talk, to her dirty apartment near the skin district. We fucked until ten-thirty. Afterward she made chunky black coffee and smoked brown cigarettes that she'd stolen from the bodega downstairs. Her roommate ignored me, the way she did every Sunday morning after that. Sometimes, when Anna and I were in her tiny bedroom having sex, and those shitty tattoos threatened my erection, I closed my eyes and imagined her roommate walking in and watching us, watching Anna's mouth as she sucked me off, watching me cum on Anna's thick belly while she smiled at me from the doorway with both hands held tight between her legs. When I drove Anna to the hospital with stomach pains one morning, her roommate finally stopped ignoring me long enough to pull me away from the nurse's station and eviscerate me with her fierce, hollow eyes, before informing me that Anna had contracted chlamydia, and that it might be wise to have myself checked out as well, as chlamydia is one of those “gift's that keeps on giving”, and can lead to sterility in men. I never did have myself checked out. Later I found out Anna was only 17. I quit the overnight shift.


by A.g. Synclair


reddit Digg Mixx Fark Google Bookmark Facebook Twitter StumbleUpon del.icio.us Technorati

Saturday, August 08, 2009

d - g

536 days without him now.
awake with a stake in my eye
i drink myself to happiness
i live like i am not alive
the day i left you i watched myself die
and i prayed, begged for anything
to hit me in the face i crawl across days
trying to get further away
from this mistake
so fucking sick of writing you
penning you because when i do it
i am kissing you see, fucking you through words
on paper and there were many loves but
none of my loves, were you my love
twenty-two tattooed on my wrist so i wont
forget you for i am the jester
and he is the king and he is constantly dismissing me
and still i wait for him but he will never come
therefore d is minus g me minus you
me bound to you i lay on my death bed
my apartment as my coffin.
and then it slslslslows..
re
gress.
underneath the stars i kissed
your blistered lips and so dear i loved you i
got on my knees
opened my mouth
and swallowed your lies
as black debris fell from the sky
my body hit the ground
the fluid stayed within me
now i bleed thee slowly.

by Desiree Santos


reddit Digg Mixx Fark Google Bookmark Facebook Twitter StumbleUpon del.icio.us Technorati