at the core

driving to work
i saw a cesspool truck
hauling those
big thick concrete rings
& then a hearse
like a sleek silver shark
not far behind
both reminding me
this planet’s just
a mud pinata filled
w/ shit & corpses

Science Daddy

Science is a thicc-ass Daddy
Shove your findings published
in peer-reviewed journals
deep down my throat

I’m wearing tight tight yoga pants
and I’ve just wasted $100
on Doterra lavender oil
instead of vaccinating
my kids, Daddy

I’m a bad bad girl

Punish me

Lecture my ass
on the importance of
making medical decisions
based on empirical evidence

Beat the woo out of me,
Science Daddy,
so I no longer spread
harmful misinformation
just my legs

#daddygoals

dreaming in daylight

she fakes orgasms
with herself
just to get it
over with,
hopes sleep
will come,
dreamlessly.

she misses
nicotine patches,
and glorious
nightmares,
wakes
in darkness,
reaches
for the magic,
cums
like a robot.

the sun
does push-ups,
fantasy runs laps,
moon exploded,
hours knock
on windows,
she sleeps
in daylight,
night waits.

Out to Lunch

One of the local crazies
was walking toward us
shouting non-sensical bullshit
and the ladies in front of her
looked nervous.

As I walked by, we made
eye contact and she screamed:
“and you, you and your dog
raped me last night,
you fucked me!”

I chuckled and then I thought about
how she was probably normal once,
how she was somebody’s beautiful
little girl once; but that, that was a
long time ago.

Now she was out to lunch,
now she had a creative imagination.

I was jealous of it.

I was in awe.

I hope we showed her a good time.

horror, adj.
inspiring or creating loathing, aversion, etc.

sleaze, adj.
contemptibly low, mean, or disreputable

trash, n.
literary or artistic material of poor or inferior quality

Welcome to HSTQ: Winter 2020, the curated collection from Horror, Sleaze and Trash!

Featuring poetry by Thumper Devotchka, Anthony Dirk Ray, Judge Santiago Burdon, David Boski, Gwil James Thomas, Stacey Z Lawrence, Robert Beveridge, David Estringel, Mitch Green, Maté Jarai, Jane-Rebecca Cannarella, Benjamin Blake, Puma Perl, Jack Henry, James Diaz, Josef Desade, John Grey, Bogdan Dragos, Arthur Graham, and Mendes Biondo.

Kindly PayPal 5 USD to arthur.graham.pub@gmail.com for print copies,
or download the FREE ebook instead!

endless void of fear

whispers in
the darkness

her neon soul
resting on your
endless void
of fear

too old to fall
in love but not
quite dead

you’ve learned
that hope is some
ancient feeling
from the fantasy
novels of your
youth

but she looks
in your eyes

and
you swear
angels are
starting up
the band

I’m Not Dancing With That Bitch Anymore

First time that I met her
I never had a suspicion
when I loved her
She always made me feel so fine
but she’d always leave me wanting more
Then I’d find myself begging
back at her door
I’m not dancing with that bitch anymore

Every time I saw my face in the mirror
making love to those little white lines
I never thought I was losing control
She did my thinking for me
but baby now I know
I’m not dancing with that bitch anymore

There was nothing pure
in her driven snow
Just a whiter shade of darkness
where I betrayed my shadow
She choreographed
every move I made
I’d perform for her my spastic ballet
I’m not dancing with that bitch anymore

I was ready to sell my soul for her
if I could just find me a buyer
I spent my friends for the lies she told
I just could not deny her
She had me under her thumb
My legs could move
but I couldn’t run
I’m not dancing with that bitch anymore.

staff picks

I’m allowed
2 books for the display shelf.

I choose
Firestarter
and Jaws—

A little girl
with an awesome power.

An enormous shark
with a voracious appetite.

As co-workers
and patrons approach
I want them to sense danger.

I want them to turn around
and walk away, far away.

Lest they get burned.

Lest they get bit.

Back

Late early
morning, smudged
charcoal sky.
You dip us in and out
murky sidewalk pools
like spender bristled
brushes, plunged
in tins of street oils.

All haze,
the air we sip, the strangers we fuck,
the steam, cumulus over the Bowery.
I straddle the arc of your back, my whore-heeled sandals
dangle unbuckled, nascent blisters
16th century pickpack
on my Ferdinand Magellan.

I wrap
my arms around your strong shoulders,
squeeze hard through slim alleyways,
curdled milk, vomit and spent diapers,
trash collection is tomorrow
heaps of black plastic
line the silken Manhattan sidewalk, sea-
polished stones on a Sussex beach.

I start
to slip, but you hold on
the raindrops are plump,
bitter against my bare neck.
An awning,
you come to rest, I slide down your trunk
soft lips dry my face, I nuzzle
the nape of your bristly throat,
sweep my nose through your peppery mop
and leap again.