Swimming in my own pool of puke reminded me of masturbation
because her throwing up on me was love.
Why else did she do it?
That’s what she said: “It’s love, baby!”
and I wanted to drink the entire universe
and puke all over the stars,
the earth and drink puke to puke it out all over
my ecstatic body
and then smoke a cigarette of puke
because I love them.
And her.
And you.
And myself.
I’ll blow up, America.
Seasons of posturing kaput.
Obscurity eradicated from my
dictionary, name carved on
sidewalks, Wikipedia entry in
braille. Television regular.
Pepsodent-whitened smile on
the cover of People magazine.
I’ll blow up America.
FBI on my trail like hellhounds,
hands trembling, throat too full
to swallow. Shackles, interrogations,
Public Enemy No. 1. Hangman
salivating like a hyena at the gallows.
May get unwanted kudos from ISIS,
won’t ever witness a sunrise again.
I killed, Eleanor Rigby.
No more living in a dream.
Standing room only, rafter-
quaking encores, tinnitus-inducing.
applause. Temporarily blinded
by eager flashbulbs. Management
pleased. Contract renewed for a
fortnight. Finally, headliner.
I killed Eleanor Rigby.
The Beatles, particularly un-pleased.
An icon erased. Friends, family.
public, disappointed. Constabulary
reigned me in, fed me swill when
generous, changed my name to
Solitary Con, where I’ll spend the
rest of my forfeited life.
I ate, my love.
Rice pilaf Caribbean style, even
microwaved, Michelin-level cuisine.
Thoughtful, her remembering me,
she, suddenly called to work. Sun
won’t set on her generosity. That
tune she hears? No fantasy. Just
me singing her praises.
I ate my love.
Recipe on loan from the head chef
at Le Bistro Borneo. Should have
marinated longer, still gamey.
Fricasseed next time? Maybe paired
with chianti. Goes best with red meat.
Hannibal would know. He was my
guest for dinner.
ever since i have
been an adult, i
have preferred
cats over dogs
i’m pretty sure
this makes me
a communist
to most people
actually, i’m just
another of the
proletariat that
has a dream
wondering if one
day the princess will
include me in her
games of love
that maybe one day
the neon will let us
rise to a celestial level
where pain can no
longer touch these
broken wings
but, who am i kidding
i think there is a bit
of heroin left from
the night before
oblivion can’t get
here fast enough
i put out a little
milk for the cat
in my fantasies,
she’s the one that
cooks up the shots
Busty blonde from a bottle
buys cosmetics from CVS
store flashing a wad of bills,
serious cash, acting casual,
tells the thin pixie cut girl
behind the counter,
“The boys would like you,
you’ve the face for it.
Nice, trim athletic body.
Seriously, ever think
about it? Dancing, I mean.”
“I’m too flat chested.
Don’t know how to dance.
I’m not flash like you.”
“It’s just a pole, some hot
rock music and moving
like you mean it. Work out
a routine. I’ll show you
around. You can make
some serious cash. Tax free.
More in a night than you
can make pushing keys
in a CVS drug store in a month.”
Two weeks later, the new
girl is talking to some sleaze bag
in a polyester suit that was
never in style about making
movies. Who knew? CVS
stores as stepping stone to
the stage and screen.
A unique account of arrivals and departures, adventures and awakenings, set in the noir universe of Bangkok and Phnom Penh. Featuring the poetry of HST alumnus, John Gartland.
amazon.com/author/amazonjohngartland
Yoko’s the wife stayin’ overseas. Harry Nielsen
can be my brother whose bitch I fucked as he
believes. Ringo can be the dope runner living
in my house, always tryin’ to get inside my head.
Keith Moon’s his wife gone wild and ballistic with
our dirty laundry and I’m with May Pang, undressed
on a queen sized, her legs nicely spread wide
and still wearing her stupid fucking glasses.
(Midnight Lane Boutique, August 2015)
One of our friends says
‘They will end up as killers,
Like Fred and Rose West,
This is how they started.’
In shock at his words and the venom with which he says them,
I tell him that Fred West used to eat onions as if they were apples,
A fact I heard on a podcast.
But the friend continues his disapproval
And says
Over and over and over again
‘Well, me and my girlfriend
Aren’t bored
Of fucking each other.’
I do not think
My bisexual polyamorous friends
Are bored of fucking each other
I think they are so
Excited
By sex
They want more of it.
Fred and Rose West
Had a homemade neon sign saying “cunt” above their bed.
They lived in Bristol.
They were good at DIY.
They are nothing like my
Tasteful
Middle Class
West London
friends.
Sex
Is not
A moral failing.
Killing people
Is.
But if we’re getting Catholic about it,
Envy’s just as bad as lust.
Stare Down The Gods
By Adrian Manning
Holy&intoxicated Publications
Paypal £5:00 / $5:00 plus p&p to johndrobinson@yahoo.co.uk
maggots in the meat
puking reflections
dreaming dreams
of becoming flies
heads up
duck
goodbye and thanks
for all the fish
plastic mountains
under mind control
wooden bones
creaky souls
human teeth boiling
in cat bile
mind and body
blown away
alligator feet around
hand snakes’ necks
French kiss
pig parade
scabs on the dog
brewed into beer
turn turds
milky missiles
three cheers
for dead youth
mushroom cloud
confetti
coffee in a
crystal skull
pointing at our wrists
asking for the time
suicide notes
as paper airplanes
aurora borealis eyes
swollen and blind
angles mistaken
for parabolas in
the business of living
never follow the crowd
fingernail soup
testing the water
not all good things
come to an end
When God made cut-off
jeans and specially modified
wife beater tees and put them
on a woman with a Daisy Mae
body, you knew there was a
reason and a purpose to life.
That she could pound flaming
shots of whatever you put
in front of her and swear like
a stevedore, didn’t diminish
the package, actually added
traction, among the guys she
hung with in after hour, no
close bars. Used to claim
she was a girl scout in her
youth, the kind scout leaders
warned all the other girls about
and who was envied by all.
Was asked by one of the bar fly
mountain men she hung with
if she’d ever been a brownie
and she said, “Wouldn’t you
like to know.”
The way they were looking at
each other it wouldn’t be long
before they found out all there
was to know about each other.
