Anna O

Good Ol’ Times

Of course
I’ve had good times,
I told him,
squizing my brain
for a given memory
While wiping my chapped lips 
with the back of my hand
Booze and bullshit spilled
from my misaligned jaw

It starts like this:
You grab a bottle of wine
and your favorite dolls 
Going off to dabble
in the dark arts

This I can say,
I’ve had much fun
actually,
most of which i sadly
don’t remember at all

But i can tell you,
for example,
about the feeling of lying down
in a field of sunflowers,
as magnificient 
as a Van Gogh painting

Or swimming naked in the rain
upon a murky lake
My man watching me enraptured
as the reeds lightly whip
my bareskin butt
He’s too afraid to jump in
(of something entering his meatus)
Funny, isn’t it?
I sure thought so

I know this isn’t wishful thinking
’cause I’m not much of a romantic
But man, these pills fucked me up

What about trying ice skating
for the first time totally drunk 
because some dude had his birthday 
and he wanted to surprise me
We even went to play pool
with a swinger couple after

I realized that night
I sucked balls

And yet, my very likely best nights
Come as axes to my skull
and the fuckening steeps somewhere
between the second and third bottle
Balls-in is always a good idea

My strongest memories though
fall between arousal and horror

Like the image of some guy
Can’t even remember his name
Washing his face 
with my blood
after fucking me hard
in the vintage chair
of a run-down Belgrade
hotel room

I think,
his magic mushrooms 
had gone bad, but
his sphincter was quite mighty

It happens to fall 
and break your nose
sometimes
when you drink from
green bottles offered free 

Me, I’m lying in my piss
in a university bathroom
Which, to be honest, seems kinda odd 
and not much my style anyway

More like a fistful of shit 
from a trans Russian’s ass
and more good ol’ times
yet to come

Johnny Scarlotti

a poem for all the dads out there

it was summertime 
she told me she was a virgin 
i went over to her house 
in the kitchen 
she gave me a cherry
with all 10 of my fingers 
i popped it 
it gushed 
she walked up to me
got on her knees 
took my fingers in her mouth 
her dad walked in on us 
what the fuck he said
i had to leave
he said that kind of stuff is not allowed in my house, son 
i told him not to call me son, dad
he said don’t call me dad, boy 
as i walked out the front door 
i turned back and said 
ok old man
he came after me 
he started wrestling me on his front lawn 
my girl 
she was screaming 
stoppit dad!
he had me in a deeep headlock 
tap! he said 
never
i could feel myself losing consciousness 
but i could feel his strength weakening 
stoppit ur hurting him my girl screamed
but i gave her the thumbs up 
i got out of the headlock 
i told her watch this 
and i belly to belly suplexed him 
and he went unconscious

and ever since then 
she called me daddy

Daniel S. Irwin

True Compassion

For some reason,
She took offense
At him calling her
A psycho bitch.

So,
She bashed him
In the head
With the plate
Of macaroni
And cheese.

It made quite
A colorful mess,
Mixed with the
Gushing blood
And all.

Still,
He thanked her
For bandaging
The head wound,
Taking that as
A sign of true
Compassion.

When actually,
She just didn’t
Want to go
To jail.

Paul Tanner

path

dumb. goal-post dumb. 
he didn’t have a learning disability.
he wasn’t let down by the education system.
well, at least no more than the rest of us. 
no. he was just dumb. a big dumb fuck.
he farted when he walked.
he’d come farting across the school yard 
farting footsteps 
and grab you:

cum sniffer! he’d accuse. sniff your cum, you, don’t you?
or:
mum perv! perv on your mum, you, don’t you
and:
dog wanker! wank your dog off, you, don’t you? 

his chin against yours because he wanted a kiss 
and the only way he could get one
was to find an excuse to kick off on you 

and it was in maths class, or science, one of them 
and Mr Harbour had nipped out to put some Irish in his coffee 

and you don’t know what happened:
you saw the big dumb fuck 
sitting on his own there 
mouth breathing 
and you thought of all the farts 
brewing inside of him 
and it suddenly really pissed you off.
you were bored. you were so fucking bored.
bored of him and bored of school
and the two of them together? same time, same place?
nah, that was too much, mate. 
so you went over 
and you said:

YOU sniff YOUR cum. YOU perv on YOUR mum. YOU wank YOUR dog. YOU sniff
YOUR cum after wanking off YOUR dog of a mum. it’s obvious. 
that’s why you accuse everyone else of doing those things. so fuck off. fuck
the fuck 
off
and he hit you
and you went down 

and you were lying on the floor of the maths room, or the science lab, one of them
declaring: I hit a nerve! it must be true!
and you could see him standing over you
with his leg pulled back at the knee 
like he was going to kick you
but he was hesitating:

even that big dumb fuck 
had the foresight to know 
that if he started kicking you he wouldn’t be able to stop,
but then his eyes went glassy 
as he saw his whole shit life before him,
realising he was probably going to end up in prison anyway 
and his big mushy face seemed to 
relax
as he decided: fuck it 
might as well get a head-start on my shitty prison life 
by getting some revenge here and now, eh?

when Mr Harbour came back 
with his cheeks all shiny 
and yelped. 

the big dumb fuck got chucked out of school. 
or he was just suspended, and forgot to come back. who knows.
but you were looking over your back for a while.
and then 
well, shit,
you were dragged into adulthood
and he kind of faded into the back of your mind
until you forgot about him completely, like 
that nugget of data devoted to him 
just fell out of your ear one day
when you were 
sitting in the dentist’s waiting room 
or fisting someone’s grandma,
as you do. 

and you just got 
this job
bringing the deliveries in 
at the frozen food place in town,

and who’s working alongside you?

no, you think, looking out the corner of your eye
as you strip a pallet.
no. surely not. how’d I end up in the same place as him?

then he puts down a box 
and comes farting over:
his farts, matured like cheese,
slapping the warehouse walls …

you brace yourself 
for another kicking.
for the lifetime of kicking 
that he’s backed up all this time.
probably got lots of practice on his prison bitch. 

you brace yourself 

and the big dumb fuck, 
he leans over you
and he sniffs his finger 
when he asks:
cover my shift Tuesday? 
gotta walk my mum’s dog.

James Diaz

I Aim To, Yes

I will take your hand like a mountain 
an impossible climb, time passing
we know this, never so gently 
as the song playing in our heads, four ribbons
outta four winds, snow in the lung
shovel up to the door of your sadness heart
tonight I am a huge fire, 
you’re the thunder roaring under
motel floor boards, six-pack eyes 
call the owl to bread, let the garden sink
under autumn rain, listen to the dark highway 
hum a sweet little song of pain, 
Yes, I’ll take your hand, try very hard to understand 
what the poem tried to say, what my eyes couldn’t find
all alone anyway, out here in triumph or drown land
low edge blur of town, I just want to pause the hurt
be a fixer-downer 
back to the roots, inside the seed 
ride the wind, let the wound bleed
back East West North South
anywhere but nowhere 
everywhere the poor heart lands
yes, in your hands…

Jeffrey Zable

Me and My Vagine

I was walking with my vagine when a man stopped me and said, 
“Oh, what a lovely vagine! Do you mind if I pet it?” 

Looking at his face, I could tell he was a decent fellow 
though his expression seemed a bit anxious.

“Sorry to say no,” I answered gently but firmly. 
“I used to let people pet my vagine, but too many of them–
mostly men–have done so in a manner that made my vagine 
feel very uncomfortable.”

Obviously disappointed, the man looked down at my vagine 
and said in a sorrowful tone, “I perfectly understand.
I once had a beautiful vagine like yours, but then. . . 
well, it’s a very sad story. I’ve tried to get on with my life 
but it hasn’t been easy. Whenever I see one like yours, 
it always reminds me. . .”

Feeling sympathy for the guy, I was just about to reverse my decision
when I suddenly remembered that I’d heard the same story before.
After wishing him well, me and my vagine continued on our way. . .

Donna Dallas

Melted

I’ll try once more to be
buttery
sweet and soft
let it all go
start anew try
deep breath
come undone
try
calm the nerves
seep into deep space
melt stars
I never get out
of my head enough
to realize
I am nothing
save the few bits of
blood and bone
I’ve left
squandered all the rest
on something
radical
I believed
as love
call it madness
I go again

***

Originally published in Anti-Heroin Chic 

Jeff Weddle

Swimming Hole

There may be snakes 
in the water 

probably there are snakes 

and sharp rocks 
in the shallows 

there are also leeches 

you can be certain 
there are leeches 

and all manner 
of slick, biting things 

but the water is cool 
and it is such a heavy day 

there may be disease 
in the dark water 
and sudden pits 
for drowning 

there may be ghosts 
of missing children 
and bodies 
still tangled in vines 

there may be broken glass 
and poison 

but it is so hot 
and the water feels 
delicious

it is best to jump head first 
someone said 

it is best to get your head under 
right away

it is best 
not to think about it 

it is best to love 
the things impatient 
to devour you

James Diaz

No One To Say it To

Despair is a room in my Father’s house 
it’s too long a story to tell standing up
some days it’s like you aren’t even human 
but you are you are you are 

And you can go tell it now from every mountain 
how Linda danced alone in her mobile home
and no one ever checked on her 
not once did anyone notice the ghost town she had become 
despair just another a room in her bones no one had a key to

And the dark Indiana wind at night rocking smoke stack trailers 
till the hills feel what the road can do
when a car goes over like 48 years of mute prayers
chucking itself into the nameless thing

It’s too much to tell standing up
how she never felt human / not once
but she was she was she was 

Noel Negele

Perfect Joy

One of his fondest memories
is from going to Baku in Azerbaijan,
from where, much like Paris,
he remembered little other than flashes
of wild scenes and his rapidly decreasing bank account.

In Baku he had hooked up with a beautiful tranny
who was short and had all the woman parts 
and was as it seemed much easier to pleasure.

They had taken two oxycodins each and had gone
to the zoo where emperor tamin monkeys were 
left free to roam and often steal
and one of’em had climbed on top of him, 
sat on his neck
and searched his thick hair for lice.

The sensation was incredible. Deep into his high
with the monkey massaging his skull, 
he took out a Buprenorphine film, supplied
by the tranny who at that moment 
was an absolute bouquet  of flowers,
and put it under his tongue
and as it melted there
exploding a new high
he closed his eyes
drooling
erected
and was as close to zen as souls can be.

The perfect nothingness. 
Black but blonde with light
and filled 
with the most spectacular feeling of contentment.

He had passed out after that.