Ryan Quinn Flanagan

Poocasso Creates Another Masterpiece 

The drunk tank had been in need of a makeover for years.
And here came Poocasso, dropping his pants 
to create another masterpiece.

No one likes finger paints after midnight,
especially the law and order crowd.

The coppers banging on the door,
but no one was willing to step foot inside. 

And Poocasso made these wild waving swan gestures with is arms.
Stinking brown swirls over all the walls and floor.

Fearful drunks crowded into a single back corner.
Vomiting from the reek of the artist at work in his studio.

And Poocasso took his two fingerbang feelers,
dipped them in some of the vomit
to add to his creation.

Howling like some New Moon werewolf 
each time he stepped back to admire his work.

When the coppers got on the phone 
with their counterparts down at 51 Division,
they were told that Poocasso did this all the time.

That he was a regular down there.
They took credit for christening him with the name,
but did not offer any advice on how to make him stop.

You’re going to have to go scorched earth on the entire thing,
they said.
Make sure you got enough bleach to pull the tears 
right up out of the grout! 

Poocasso began painting himself 
and broke into some long-forbidden rain dance
even though they were indoors.

A young deputy from crowd control
racing over to the window
to see if it had worked.

Willie Smith

Bad Boyfriend

Making good time, 
having a good time, 
pushing 80 on I-90, 
3 o’clock 
of a June morning, 
not a taillight in sight, 
in the rearview nothing to see. 
Seemed a good time to eat the Adderall. 
Washed it down with Early Times, 
straight from the fifth. 
Secure in the knowledge 
wheel secure in left hand, 
foot feeding gas 
to an engine purring 
smooth as a cougar eating a 
beating deer heart. 
Having a good time, making good time, 
me and my beater eating up the road 
between me and you. 
Never harmed a hair on your head. 
Till the night you left, and I ran after, 
swerved ahead, 
gave a taste of the knife 
to your two-time tit. 
Now I’ve had a good time 
with that same knife 
and your gay blade of a Princeton boy, 
gonna pop you outta that locker. 
Drive to a secluded beach. 
Spit-roast heart and liver 
over an open fire. 
Eat you all up. 
Before I strip, pad over sand, 
and walk the last of our memories 
into the waves, having a good time, 
making time bad. 

Jonathan S. Baker

It is what it is

Down on the street,
the women think of Fay Ray’s safety
and the men think of their fathers
in the early morning rush
for the bathroom and showers,
fights for the mirror
shoving matches between brothers
presided over by Dad’s dangling cock
magnified by memory.
The bisexual on the 32 floor
sees passing by the window
his half remembered joke about
wanting a harem of beautiful women
and one disembodied penis.
Ken Burns sees a propaganda piece
from the Great War climbing
one of humanity’s great achievements.
Andrea Dworkin sees the patriarchy
and rape culture and who could argue.
Racists feel unjustly weirdly validated.
Everyone is too busy dealing
with their own shit to help
the poor woman being abducted by Kong
as his dick like a megalith
drags against the tallest building in the city,
but they all hope it works out.

Bradford Middleton

Addiction for Some is a Battered Laptop & Some Words on a Page

It was just going to be another day at home
Doing the boring monthly shit we all have 
To do but by half-10 my addiction had come
A-calling as my laptop cranks into action
& just like a junkie I feast on my drug &
The words come easily & the words come
Good and occasionally I’ll pause for a smoke
& a look at the dark grey mass of a sky that
Lingers above my rich neighbour’s back wall
But today nothing will drag me from here.

Brian Rosenberger

How I Spent My Puerto Rico Vacation

The Territories were dying. I still had bills to pay.
An offer was made. I accepted. I imagined Paradise.
Not so much. It wasn’t Hell. It was Hotter.
No AC. I was sweating after the Sun went down.
Blame the Equator not the Promoter.
Rough crowds? Are you kidding?
I was the All-American, chiseled, good-looking,
Spit on this third-world country, its ugly women,
Uglier children, and their inedible food.
Great country for Savages and the In-bred.
Great promo for a heel, but;
At the venue, dealers sold rocks for a nickel,
More for a dollar. Some fans brought their projectiles.
The kids had great aim. Adults not too shabby either.
Rocks, bottles, batteries, and cups of piss.
As a heel, that equaled Success.
My favorite tag-team partner, not mentioned in interviews
Or promos, the Puerto Rico Heroin was like a hot tag.
The Ultimate Comeback; while it lasted.
I survived My Puerto Rico Vacation.
Some didn’t.

Damon Hubbs

Heavy Metal

we think in thorium and mercury
jutting hips 
like tailgate tableau 
in heavy metal parking lots

we think in lead and radium
strutting lips 
like streaked rearview 
in heavy metal parking lots

lovers 
and love 
errs 
periodically

you with a copy 
of The Catcher in the Rye
alloyed in the waist 
of your Levi’s—

we think in chromium and arsenic 
cutting up and folding in
the acid trips 
of heavy metal parking lots

we smoke
slam nuclei into each other
exist for a fraction
then disappear into other elements 

Daniel de Culla

Alien Buddha

I was about to begin the Camino de Santiago
But I preferred to go behind the Sierra Morena
To find the lizard droppings
Or the dried cow dung
That would lead me to knowledge
Of the divinatory fields.
I began to defecate next to a rock
Behind a green rosebush
On four flowers.
The first thing I saw with my third eye
Of my Ace of Diamonds or Ass
Were three similar figures or together
Like three naked maidens.
A knight on horseback passed by
Who looked like a UN soldier
Who said, to the four winds
That he was coming after the three beautiful maidens.
Not far from me, in a nearby meadow
I saw a horse riding a she donkey
On a crown of crosses or squares.
I also saw a bird, a quadruped
A snake, a rose, a thorny bramble
And a willow with melancholic thoughts.
While wiping my ass
With some wild asparagus
Because I didn’t have any paper or a dove feather
I looked up at the sky
Seeing two overlapping circles
Some scattered squares
Some ovals
A straight line with three crosses
Some triangles and a parallelogram.
Suddenly, emerging from a circle
With four points inside
I saw an alien Buddha appearing
Who, sitting on my shoulders, asked me:
-Are you lost?
Have you lost a fart among the stones?
Beginning to move my penis and balls
In various ways.
When he took over the situation
And from that first drop
Luminous drop or aura
At the tip of the bud, he ordered me:
-Close your eyes and turn your head as far as possible
To the ass position.
Position yourself sideways
So you can see both of your faces at the same time.
Put your cock in your own arsehole.
 I’ll help you with mine’s
Through the hole in your own anus, or third eye.
Your ass appears bluish
Seventh color of the rainbow.
Ejaculating both of us inside will produce a release of the soul
Like Tao and Zen together with a Chinese tinge
In a Japanese tapestry.
When I tried to answer him something
He jumped on my fart
Shooting off toward the sun or the moon
Laughing out loud.
This alien Buddha not only disgraced me in unison
But as he left, he stuck his tongue out at me.
What a rascal!

Ken Kakareka

sunday psalm

you
are a writer 
b/c you sit down 
and write – 

not b/c you call 
yourself a writer. 

you
are a writer 
b/c surrounding you 
on your desk 
at 7:34 sunday morning 

are 3 books 
you have written, 
15 raggedy-filled notebooks, 
a typewriter, laptop,
countless pens and
empty cups of coffee. 

you
are a writer 
b/c the sun slits thru the blinds 
and highlights the words
in this poem – 

you
are a writer.

Salvatore Difalco

The Male Gaze

Maybe my imagination is out of focus.
By law, I can no longer trust my eyes,

nor can the world at large trust them.
Indeed they’re crimes waiting to happen.

I still believe I innocently perceive 
the beautiful when I see it, and daily 

feast on its sundry optical banquets.
After all, what the eyes see, the mind believes

and what it believes nourishes the soul.
A beautiful day is thus a beautiful day.

But when the eyes see legs coming 
down the street, long legs, lean legs,

tanned legs with golden bristles, 
legs like fiery chariots, legs like wings,

legs like verses from God’s epistle,
denial doesn’t amount to disbelief, 

nor raising the hands as if to block 
the eyes from a radiating sun flare,

or a thermonuclear blast. Avert them
how when the legs are thrust upon you,

striating, striding, flexing—fragrant
as the summer breeze they part and flail?

Maybe go Biblical and pluck them out?
But presuming all this, did God not make

me with these eyes? Did God not also make
these legs I see divine to some degree?

Brooks Lindberg

Etiquette & Vitriol

For Nicky Silver

You’ve never met a normal person.
But I have. And I’ve learned my lesson:

people with manners made me who I’m not.

Swallow your gum then
shit in your own mouth
please. Guess what this is:

{(;)}

LOL ROFL IYKYK BTW
do you know how long
I’ve loved you? Never
boils, a watched pot.

Épater la bourgeoisie
or—less like a bundle of sticks—
evil shall with evil be
expropriated. You said once

David Foster Wallace’s footnotes
were like him shitting into his own
{(;)} but do not to mention that to anyone because

it’s too highbrow which is above
where one should actually
shit into. And BTW, do you, yes,

you know how much I love you?
I tried to pray yesterday
but couldn’t. Oh
well that ends well.

I’m well; how are you?
Hi well, I’m dad.
Hi dad, fuck you.

Well, this needs to end somehow.
Nohow. Yeshow. Somehow. Hey,
while I got you for a second,
guess how much I love you.

Until then, goodnight sweet
cocksucker*.

*Insert footnote about how cocksucker actually means {(;)}, lol 😉