Scott Ferry

drydream 

i wake up one morning with my mental cereal
in the fridge and my milk in the cupboard
my penis holds up my glasses
my eyes gauze in prayer
i have already begun to slip
worms in mouths and tongues on hooks
the arrhythmias have foretold it all along
if i flip it along the purkinje fibers
the heart becomes an insular sun
don’t forget to clean up
the semen on the catastrophes
i haven’t even cum yet and i’m already asleep
so the changes have begun crow craw on
vinyl and thelonius twinkles through the
tinkle i don’t reason this is a slack-kneed prophecy
that this is a foreskin lantern of lost gods
i can’t shake the rubbertongue
can’t breathe without cost can’t dance
without rubbing some nipple can’t wash
this electric fence with holy hoses and yes
when i wake i am a lobster in an egret suit
with a case of dildos and a jesus bicycle
i can’t ride either so this must be
another broken river regurgitating
milk-bloated sirens all their eyes
coins

Robert Guffey

Dr. Seuss Was a Junkie

I love Dr. Seuss
Dr. Seuss was cool
Dr. Seuss was a writer
Who could really groove
I learned something recently
It was kind of disturbing
It burst my bubble
It was rather unnerving
The news was this:
Dr. Seuss was a junkie
He’d stick a straw up his nose
And act real funky
He was addicted to speed
china white and smack
Ecstasy and acid
black tar and Prozac
All his stories
Were censored from view
His original titles
Were way more cool
I.e., e.g.
Ipso facto, thusly:
Listen up, kids
This is a trip
Ain’t this a title
To wet your lips?
Howzabout “Son of Sam I Am”
“Horton Marries a Ho”
“The Grinch Does Dallas”
And “The Cat in the Hat Blows”
“Cocks in Socks”
“Horton Hatchets a Queer”
“Hop on Pop”
And “The Grinch Diddles a Deer”
“Foot Fetish Book”
“Oh Say Can You Spray?”
“There’s a Rocket in My Pocket”
And “The Grinch Hates Gays”
“One Sperm Two Sperm Red Sperm Blue Sperm”
“Thickdick, the Well-endowed Moose”
“I Had Trouble Getting Solla to Swallow”
And “The Cat in the Hat Rapes Mother Goose”
“Did I Ever Tell You How Fucked-up You Are?”
“Marvin K. Mooney Traffics in Smut”
“And To Think I Smelled It On Dingleberry St.”
And “The Grinch Humps Sluts With His Pants Zipped Shut”
Dr. Seuss was a junkie
Dr. Seuss was cool
Dr. Seuss fucked monkeys
And flaunted the rules
Dr. Seuss a rebel
Dr. Seuss a role model
He deserves a medal
More than Colin Powell
Dr. Seuss was a junkie
And though this is grim
You can do a lot worse, kids
Than to emulate him
So throw away the calculator
Throw away the TV
Dump it into the incinerator
And get strung out on speed!

Bill Wolak

Bill Wolak is a poet, collage artist, and photographer who has just published his eighteenth book of poetry entitled All the Wind’s Unfinished Kisses with Ekstasis Editions.  His collages and photographs have appeared recently in the 2022 Rochester Erotic Arts Festival, the 2020 International Festival of Erotic Arts (Chile), the 2020 Seattle Erotic Art Festival, the 2020 Dirty Show in Detroit, the 2018 Montreal Erotic Art Festival, and Naked in New Hope 2018. He was a featured artist in Best of Erotic Art (London, 2022).

Vivian Pollak

Board of Nails

Once upon a time, there was
this guy walking down the street,
arm around his babe,
when these three mean dudes
standing in a doorway started
making crass comments
as they passed by.

She was a gorgeous
Asian babe and they said:
“Hey, is her pussy slanted too?”
Then there was this board of nails
just lying there on the ground nearby
so the guy picked it up and started 
BEATING THE LIVING CRUD
out of them with it.

The three mean dudes took off,
all of them bloody and shaken.
“We tangled with the wrong guy!”
they could be heard to scream as
they ran down an alleyway,
never to be seen again.

But the moral here was that the babe,
who was thinking of breaking
up with him anyway,
probably that same week, 
changed her mind and decided
to break up with him
right there on the spot.

“Sorry you had to go through all that,”
she said through half-moon sad eyes.
He wasn’t sure he heard her right,
as he was panting really hard,
wiping splinters and dirt from
his cashmere sweater.

He got the message clear enough,
though, as she click-clacked off
in her sexy strap heels at a pace
as though she were trying
to catch a train. 
The click-clacks grew fainter
and fainter as he watched
her shrink to nothing
down the street.

With few other options,
he took the board home instead,
admiring the glistening red blood
upon its faded yellow surface
along the way.
He thought he should be proud,
but his pride was slowly
hissing through a tiny
puncture wound.

He turned the board over
and over in his hands
as he walked inside,
gingerly counting its spikes.
On his third run-through
it came to eleven.
He liked that number, so
he propped it up in the corner,
lording over dirty shoes
and umbrellas.

John Tustin

Clinging

Clinging to your bogus patriotism
and your antique religion:
your misguided and blind acceptance of 
– and deference to-
the family,
as if they are a connection of lily pads
leading from shore to paradisical shore.

Each false feeling, every comfortable untruth
sinking you deeper into your complacent morass.

You redesign your mind in orange florescence
and knock down all the load-bearing walls
for the sake of aesthetics.

There you are,
clinging to the life raft of sentiment.
There you are,
clinging to the clods of misguided duty.
There you are,
shining a torch into the already well-lit corners.
There you are,
behind the barbed wire
of blanketed rage and human frailty;
of human stupidity and human pride.

With the subtlety of a rhinoceros,
charging to the foot of the volcano
then standing fast;
painting little acrylic islands
on fingernails that have never felt dirt underneath.
The lava escapes the volcano,
down the other side,
rushing down toward all you know.

As you pretend standing guard,
all of your life and love is devoured
in the flame and the spew and the ash;
in the vitriolic spume much like that 
which constantly emerges 
from your own dumb and insatiable,
platitude-filled,
execrable mouth.

Eleanor Karinthy

He says

He says
Let’s get naked
And do ketamine
While we fuck

You’re bleeding
So you spread
A moss-green blanket
On the couch

He dreams
Of decadent abandon
Watching you
Undress, obey

You get on top
Dip the spoon in the bag
Hold it up
To his nose

The crystals sparkle
In your head
Drip down
The back of your throat

He is a wave
Beneath you
You’re fucking
The sea itself

Rolling and roiling
In your depths
(And when you tell him so,
He only laughs)

You come up for air
Open your eyes
The city glitters
In the windowpane

He will say “please”
When he takes off
The condom, later
And you won’t protest

You’re high
On his desire,
His need,
However false

This sea may
Swallow you
It’s time to
Learn to swim

Doug Hawley

Good Demons

Undercover

Beverly woke up at 2am after doing some ill-advised self-medicating the night before.  She heard some scratching and bumping noises and mumbled “What the hell is that?”

A voice which resembled that of James Earl Jones came from under her bed “I’m the night monster”.

A groggy Beverly slurred “No you’re not; I’m either dreaming or you are a side effect of mixing vodka and my migraine prescription.  I don’t believe in you.”

“Oh, you will, but if as you say I’m not real, you wouldn’t mind if I get in bed with you.”

“Sure, why not.  I don’t have any need for the extra space.”  Beverly fell asleep again after what appeared to be a human male in the faintly lit room had crawled in next to her. 

When she next woke, she decided no more mixing alcohol and meds, then rolled over and bumped into something.  She felt scales on a mostly human body and a normal bald head.  The body spoke “Do you believe in me now?” 

After a few seconds to calm herself “Still not sure – it could be aftereffects.” 

“Do you mind if I convince you?” 

“Go ahead.” 

The night monster burrowed under the covers and used his long-forked tongue to full advantage while humming the Led Zeppelin song ‘Kashmir’.  Beverly had an orgasm which produced body waves accompanied by a mental montage of her favorite times – she cuddled her favorite kitten Batface, had sex with boyfriend Joe in the backseat of a Ford Mustang when she was a teenager, and won a $10,000 lottery.

“Ok, I’m starting to believe.  Do you mind if I explore you now?”

“Seems fair.  Your turn.”

Beverly didn’t know what to expect between his legs.  After his previous masterful performance, she was disappointed to find something soft and small.  She asked, “Is that it?”

“Oh, I didn’t know your taste, so I started off small.  Try again.”

This time she found an eighteen-inch tent pole.  “Umm, if you take requests, how about something in-between?”

“As you desire.  Climb on cowgirl.”

Thirty-seven minutes later Beverly asked, “Can you come again?”

“That could have two different meanings, but the answer to both is yes.”

“I mean if I want you to visit again, how do I get in touch?”

“Knock on the headboard three times.  Probably a bad idea if you have company.  If I’m available, I’ll get here.  I do have other appointments.”

“Why didn’t I think of this earlier?  Will I have monster babies like in ‘The Demon Seed’ or ‘Rosemary’s Baby’?”

“It won’t happen unless I revise my DNA.  We aren’t fertility compatible.”

“Another thing.  What do I tell my boyfriend Bob?” 

“I don’t think that Bob will mind if you break up with him.  My sister is visiting him tonight and has spoiled him for human women, much as you would be disappointed by any human man now.  Both of you may want to have fake relationships to give the appearance of normality, but nothing will compare to night monsters.”

Angel of the Night

When Bob woke up at 1:56Am, he was surprised that there was a very warm body next to him which smelled of jasmine and musk.  He was amazed that Beverly had come to bed with him after their date.  He had always thought of her as somewhat prudish.  Her perfume surprised him more because he had never known her to wear any, but it was all good.  It got better when he felt a hand manipulating his cock in a very non-Beverly way arousing him in a way he had never experienced before.

Wait a minute; he hadn’t had a date with her.  “Beverly when did you show up?  Not that I don’t like it, I love it.”

A deep but feminine voice with an alien vibrato responded “I’m not Beverly, I’m Night Angel, but you can call me Angie.”

“I brought home a hooker?  I don’t remember anything like that.”

“Not at all.  My brother and I just like to do favors for deserving people and don’t worry about Beverly; my brother is taking care of her like I will take care of you.”

Bob is stunned and his brain is spinning.  Is Beverly cheating on him?  What should he think about Angie?  Quickly his dick makes his decision for him.  “Um, I like what you are doing for me now, is there anything else that you do?”

“Why don’t I take you for a spin?”

Night Angel mounted Bob and pulled him into her.  In the pale light she appeared as one of the Playboy models that he had sneaked looks at as a teenager.  Tactile exploration showed that unlike the models all of her parts felt original and she had hair where normal women have hair.  Her arousal based on her wetness seemed to match his.

Even while the experience was exploding his brain with pleasure, Bob noticed some disturbing things about Angie.  She played her vagina like a symphony, vibrating, relaxing and contracting Cleopatra’s grip and changing tempo and theme.  When he grasped her buttocks he felt scales rather than skin.  Something brushed his inner thighs up to his butt.  Her assurance that “Oh, that’s just my tail” didn’t assure him.

When his brain returned to minimal function he whispered “What are you?”

“You don’t have adequate language or knowledge for me to answer you.  Let’s just say, that like my brother who likes to be called ‘Night Monster’, we are good demons.  We ask nothing from worthy humans but mutual pleasure.  As much as you have enjoyed me, I have enjoyed you.  Would you object to me calling on you again when we are both free?”

“Uh, no.  Could you stay longer tonight?  I don’t know if I can go again, but we could cuddle.”

“Oh, we can go again.”

Good to her word, Night Angel had Bob fully prepared in five minutes.

Teen Angel

Paul was having another one of those dreams at 3 AMSince he had turned twelve he had been having nocturnal emissions and since fourteen he had been experiencing embarrassing daytime erections, but no real sex.  He had grown used to encountering movie stars or attractive classmates at night, but this time it was somebody he didn’t recognize and didn’t seem entirely human.  Whatever it was had a tail and scales on parts of ‘her’ body, but otherwise looked like a girl of his age.  As her hand wandered across his abdomen, he immediately ejaculated.  She handed him one of the tissues he kept next to the bed for cleanup.

The bigger difference from his earlier dreams was that this partner spoke to him.  “The thing that I like about teenage boys is that they rebound so fast.  I love teaching sex education.”  To prove her point she quickly prepared him for sex.  Without any preliminaries, she easily pulled him on top of her as is he weighed ten pounds and inserted his penis in an appropriate location.  Her hands on his butt guided him into a slow rhythm for awhile, followed by rapid thrusts and a mutual orgasm.

“Now that we know each other better, I should introduce myself.  I’m a good demon that specializes in helping teen boys become proficient at sex.  You can call me Teen Angel.  I hope that you enjoyed your first lesson.  If you agree, we can cover hygiene, erogenous zones, various positions and practices and ways to find appropriate, agreeable partners.  What do you think?”

Paul found it difficult to talk, but managed to squeak ‘Sure’.

“One last thing.  When you wake up tomorrow, you will think this was a dream, a vivid one, but still a dream.  Check your sheets.”

When Paul woke up, he remembered the last thing that Teen Angel said.  He found some of her scales in his sheets.

The Black Lagoon

Sheryl woke up around midnight to find a roughly humanoid giant monster in her bedroom.  As she started to scream the monster tore the covers off her bed and her pajamas off her body.

As she continued to scream the demon roughly rubbed all over her body while lingering on her more sensitive parts.  His long forked tongue invaded all of her orifices not stopping until he had poked into both ears at once.  Her self-defense training was no match for his strength.

“Continue screaming, that just makes this more enjoyable for me.”

By the time his cruel treatment was completed, her screams had become whimpers.

He then picked her up by her waist as though she were nothing and lowered her slowly onto his organ.  The whimpers became moans as they established a rhythm.

After five mutual orgasms Sheryl spoke “God, that was great, but what would you think of a new scenario?  We’ve done monster assault a lot.  You don’t exist in the daytime, but I’ve got a pool and a white bathing suit for after dark.”

“You’re thinking ‘Creature From The Black Lagoon’?  Great.  I can become Gillman without scales so you don’t get scratches as in my natural form.  If we get tired of that there is always wife at home with pool cleaner when husband works late.  Been done too often?  If we want to stay dry, you can reinforce the chandelier for something really acrobatic.  How about I become a hopeless high school boy and you are the sexy math tutor?”

“I don’t mind the scratches.  They lend authenticity and I love the new ear trick”

“See you at your pool 10pm Friday?  I’ve got a date with newbie Beverly on Thursday.”

“Works for me.”

“See you then.  Love you babe.”

“Love you too, monster.”

***

Consists of four night demon stories in Terror House

John Gartland

Nong Kai Train

An old Bangkok hand, 
was drinking with me 
on the Nong Kai train.
“Same old story, I’m afraid,
‘Don’t ever rent a room without 
a spy-hole and a chain, my friend.
The girl says she’ll get more to smoke,
and calls someone, then gets the door,
they burst into your hotel room,
she’s gone, and now you’re ransom bait 
for crooked cop extortionists
that work out of their station
in Thong Lo.
Your wrists are cut from
handcuffs, for a while, but …

The girl? … sold you out
to stay out of jail, probably.
None of them want to go back
to the monkey house, certainly.

In the station, as cops pocketed 
my cash, and checked my cards,
I recognized the officer in charge
as one of my ex-graduates 
from TLAK University. He’d been one 
of the few with any English skills.
Guess the family business never will be
sexy as the drug trade in a uniform.”

He laughed aloud, as the night blew in, 
and the fields rushed by,
and I’d rate that as a major high,
that night on the Nong Kai train.

“I got off with a less than crippling bribe.
He wouldn’t want the TLAK Alumni
tribe at their bullshit banquets,
hearing he’s corrupt. But, after all,
why else do people join the police?”

Never, never rent a room without 
a spyhole and a chain.
Sounds like a comic opera song 
or some virginal refrain; 
or the cool night breeze 
he’s shooting 
on the Nong Kai train.

“You bear the wounds of handcuffs
for a while, but …
that gut-paranoia never goes,
ammoniac fear that whips you sober.
Could be a social paradigm in there, 
who knows? For students of police states.”

The steward brought more drinks;
and the night was far from over;
with a sweet breeze off the ricelands,
as the night blew in, 
and the fields rushed by;
and we rode, with the immortals, 
on the night train to Nong Kai.

Kristin Garth

Mausoleum 

Manifest a mausoleum of the miniature house father fabricated the fall you turn four.  Erected where the backyard abuts the meadow and the edge of the marsh, you are instructed of its cherry wallpapered purpose before you skip through the bee balm towards it in a periwinkle pinafore.  

Enter a door without any bolts, too scant for adults, a place only accessible to the most minuscule.  Play there, wile away long summer days in a tiara and your step-mother’s borrowed jewels, practicing the rituals of becoming a nobleman’s spouse.  Perfect patrician place settings, calligraphy and walk in plastic kitten heels until you are old enough to be of use.  Old enough a father can ignore how you feel.  Can no longer crouch beneath its childish ceilings, cower inside its cedar pretense.  

Father offers your hand in town and considers candidates while you, morose, in a marsh in a gingham babydoll dress, layer two sets of long leather gloves — only the gardener ever requests you dress for experimentation rather than love; the very same man who taught you the names of each plant, the noxious as well as the nice.  Though he does not have a clue the power you derive from his horticultural advice. 

Fill your covered fingers then coffers with what resembles dried Queen Anne’s Lace though you would tell the truth of their toxins if anyone ever bothered to asked — 

water hemlock you save for your final disgrace Wind some around your locks as a crown.  Drown sorrows in a skeleton bridal teacup, hand painted at 12 and stored four more years safely away.  You knew the next time you would see it, it would summon tears with the most toxic of teas one must sip on that most miserable day.  It’s kept in the back of the cupboard in the too-small house where you played.  Skin a hip on its jamb as you crawl.  Another season, you would be married away away or no longer fit inside of this place at all.  Happiness you are outgrowing.  Rest in peace where you were small.  

Preacher Allgood

out of my league

a night so cold 
the river to hell froze over 
and I hotwired a Kawasaki mule
and I spun and skidded my way back among the living

why, the living asked

because, I said
I saw the ice
I saw the mule 
I didn’t hesitate
I didn’t deliberate
I didn’t ponder the consequences
I just hopped on
and goosed the shit out of the motor

no, the living protested
you didn’t want to be one of us when you were here
you wrote horrible things about us in your poems
you refused to make small talk with us in checkout lines
you spit on our holidays and mocked our beliefs
why would you come back and bedevil us?

for the cheap beer at Vern’s Tavern
and a game of eightball
I inform them

too many superb hustlers in perdition
they beat me every time
I’m so out of my league
I’ve been barred from the tables for eternity