Category: Poetry

Johnny Scarlotti

What a Day

after we got drunk
and after we fucked
some dribbled out of her butt
to the bathroom floor
and she slipped
on the jizz
and hit her head and
got knocked out
and like a good boyfriend
I carried her to the bed
tucked her in
and let her sleep it off

she wakes up
in the middle of the night
and I ask how she’s feeling
she starts screaming
“WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU?”
and I try to calm her down but
she pulls a can of mace
from her purse
and sprays my face
and the dog is barking
and biting my ankles

she runs out of the house
screaming
“CALL THE POLICE
HELP
THERE’S A RAPER IN MY HOUSE”
I can hear neighbors opening their doors
and a commotion
dragging the dog by my ankle
I try to follow her outside
to explain the situation to everyone
and a neighbor has a shotgun
pointed at my chest

so I go back inside

and then the cops come
kicking down the door
I’m standing with my hands in the air
“GETDOWNGETDOWNGETDOWN”
before I can register what they’re saying
I get tased, three times
and her dog fried to death
but I’m alright
she remembers who I am now

what a day

James D. Casey IV

Talking to Myself in Public

I once was lost
But met someone that
Showed me the right path
Even if it was left

A thought provoking madman

That lived under a tree
With an antisocial fragrance
Day drinker blues and
A walking stick
Made of old stale bread

He muttered words
That smelled bad
Behind a candy corn smile
In between sipping
On broken dream gumbo
And thick black death coffee

While pointing the way
With nicotine stained fingers
Twisted and gnarled by time
I made friends with the bird
That lived in his beard
A talkative little fellow
With better breath

I thanked them for their time
Shook both their hands
And I was on my way
With a completely different view
Of our evanescent world

When I finally made it home
I splashed my face with water
And looked into the mirror
Only to realize that man
Was me the whole time

Just talking to myself
In public

John D. Robinson

This Poetry Business

“Okay, so what is it?
that some poems of yours
have appeared in a
literary publication?
what does that mean?
what does it do for you?
so fucking what!
who gives a shit?
blow it up my ass!
the world doesn’t
know or notice shit
like that, it’s far too
busy!
and what’s the point
of it all?”

“I don’t know”
I answered.

John Grochalski

boycott you

in his bitter end

jack kerouac became a racist
and an anti-semite
he went on tv and blamed his jewish friends
for everything
the same can be said for eliot, wagner
degas and crazy ol’ ezra pound

picasso drove two women to madness
two others killed themselves over him

and ernie hemingway pushed through four wives
and two fucked up sons
before he finally took a bullet to his head over breakfast

on video i’ve watched bukowski kick his wife off a couch

over and over and over again
in a fit of drunken jealous rage
while norman mailer tried to kill his wife

hell, caravaggio and ben jonson actually did kill people

villon and genet were thieves
and rimbaud ended up nothing but a smuggler

nabokov wrote lolita and lord byron fucked his half-sister

of course flaubert paid to fuck little boys

dickens, the immortal Charles dickens

for all of his philanthropic work
chuck had a taste for the whores
just like vincent van gogh

and those are just the men, ladies and gentlemen

let’s not even get started about what virginia woolf

put leonard through before
before she took a pocketful of rocks to the river

the point is for all of their blemishes, heinous words

or despicable acts
i wouldn’t give one of them back to this slush pile life
i’d rather their art over their good conscience
and citizenship any day

because some of them have given me more light and life

than my family or the closest of friends

so to you people boycotting this artist and that

over their personal views

orson scott card or whoever you trolls have lined up next

someone who’s views aren’t yours

or aren’t the fashion of the day

do me a favor and sit down and try to sweat out

thirty novels in as many years

or a handful of operas
a symphony or another wasteland

hell, try to write out your grocery lists

do something other than pounding out your inane
uneducated opinions behind the safe mercy of internet anonymity

your dull bullshit in 140 characters or less

and then we’ll talk
about who’s boycotting who

you motherfuckers.

Ryan Quinn Flanagan

Trojan Horse

A blonde is wheeled up to my door
and I am too drunk
to turn her away.
She is beautifully constructed
and her legs seem to carry on
forever.
I bring her inside
and admire her
as I sing and dance
and toast my good fortune.
All is well
and I think she likes me,
when
suddenly,
two battalions of pointy-fingered feminists
a legion of angry lesbians
a four-star father
three divisions of divorce lawyers
and a squadron of jealous ex boyfriends
all jump out
and hack my drunk ass
to pieces.

Karina Bush

Take my hair

Like before
Take me into the woods
Drag me into the woods
I want to kiss you
Put me up against that tree
Wet morning tree
Use your other hand now
I’m helpless
Hand in my dress
Captured by a bad man
Nobody for miles
I’m going to get molested
And leave my knickers there
For the perverts

Cassandra Dallett

I Know I’m Addicted

I collect boys
like pairs of shoes
fucking one while texting another
I’m not slutty or desperate
I’m just a realist.
I know that none of them could hold my interest
if they didn’t play off each other like that.
None could talk of the prison industrial complex,
the evils of microwaves, the importance of reading,

start up my weedwacker,

and make me want to call him Daddy
while bent over,
streaming wet head
bumping granite walls.
These guys
don’t come in the same package.
The wise man Chris Rock once said
“You’re not going to find a guy who listens to Wu-Tang
and watches Seinfeld”
and I laughed cause I had one,
but
actually his dick was too small
and he was inherently
unfaithful
selfish
to the bone.

Brenton Booth

A Poem’s Worth

She was about
to finish work

at the laundromat
and we had been
talking for several
hours.

I asked her if she
wanted to come to
my apartment and
I would read her
some poems I had
recently written.

She accepted the
offer.

After I read one
we started kissing
and a little later
we were naked
having sex on the
floor.

It was some of the
best sex I ever
had.

She left to meet
her partner
and I decided to
write this poem
as a reminder
that sometimes
poetry
does pay.

Ezhno Martin

victimless slime

In case you were wondering
(and I’m sure more than a few are)

if you want to pound your pussy
with the backside of your hairbrush
and moan my name
or maybe grow your bush out
so you can tether paper-mache
effigies of Ezhno
to you sweetest spotI’m more than ok with that
No need to feel ashamed
if you find yourself
grinding and gushing on pillowcases

you’ve duct taped high-gloss photos
of my face on
or writing my name on your vibrator
so you can watch Ezhno
slip inside you
Everybody likes to have a little sexy time with themselves
and it’s no one’s fault
so many people are dreaming of me
while they are doing it
including evidently
you
So remember
I’m a gracious goo fairy
I don’t leave so little to the imagination
by any mistake
I take great joy
provoking puddles in your sheets
maybe I even get off sometimes
thinking about all that victimless slime
that’s being made about me
so I make a little of myown
why would I stifle fantasies
just because it isn’t meant to be in reality?I mean
can you imagine
actually sleeping with everyone you’d ever thought about naked?

That’s ludicrous
ludicrous like
the thought of Joesph Stalin personally strangling
35 million Russians because he couldn’t stand the thought
of anyone else getting to do the deed
But
I like boobies
and big fat white asses
my computer
and multiple external hard drives
comprise the chubby chasers pornographic Library of Congress

and in my exhaustive search
I have probably seen you naked
or at least I like to pretend
so there is no shame
in cum fresh squeezed to fantasies of strange
we all have a spank bank
overflowing with people we never mean to bang
So slap it beat it twist it buzz it bang it yank it
taste your sweet slime afterwards
and pretend it’s been mixed with my pimp juice
because when you are alone
anything goes
and it doesn’t do me any harm
if in that sick head of yours
I’m being held down
while you and seventeen of your closest friends
take turns pegging me
while dressed like Rainbow-Bright PegasusesYou make that Pearl Jam

And don’t worry about it being awkward

when you see me in public
I do it too
I’m a chronic dreamer
so I’ve probably done it thinking of you