Joshua Jordan

Backdoor Bitch

Am I really a bitch
even though I call
myself a man?
While bending over
the stall and taking it
in the can

Tell me this!
Shout it in my ear
Hearing you say it
while pounding
my rear

It’s just an experiment
I’m really a guy
But when you slip
your dick in me
Baby, I fly!

Football fantasies
Masculine men fight
But extra large dildos
Oh wow, they own
my night

Being called a faggot
yeah that’s my greatest
Fear
But if you whisper
sweet nothings
I won’t shed a
Tear

A plastic pounding
my insides do adore

Such a feminine touch
but my ass desires
So much
more

You’re my master
I promise not
to flinch
Now slip it in my ass
and call me
your bitch

HSTQ: Winter 2020

w20 cover

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!

J.J. Campbell

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

Judge Santiago Burdon

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.

Ben Newell

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.

Stacey Z Lawrence

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.

Robert Beveridge

Vision

I’m at sail in a blue boat
in a red sea
in a strange land.
The hold is filled with dark snakes.
They cannot escape
Although the hold is full.
Black, writhing, poisonous snakes
Ruby orb-eyes
filled with fire.
The sea is calm as I lie on the boat.

Why do I lie?
Why am I still?

“Peace!” cries the vampire.

“At long last, I have found peace!”
His snakes are free.

Slowly, I open the hold.
The snakes emerge
And begin to fly.
The snakes devour me alive.

Peace!
At long last, I have found peace!

Gwil James Thomas

Fuck You and The Horse You Rode in On

When you told me that you were posh
I thought you were being ironic,
but I really couldn’t care either way –
nor does anyone care for your opinion
when you butt into conversations,
or your passive aggressive comments
and here’s some advice
for your storytelling –
have a point with the stories,
or at least give them some feeling –
maybe it’s just attention
that you’ve been after,
so here it is and
let me spell it out for you –
I couldn’t care less if you were shot off
the edge of a sixty storey building
and fell
all
the
way
down
before you landed on a canopy
and were catapulted
into a contaminated hot tub
of Peruvian piranhas
and if I visited you in hospital,
it’d only be to unplug
your life support
so that I could charge
up my phone –
so fuck you
and the horse
you rode
in on.

David Boski

Try My Best

“Why do you do that?
Why do you constantly
push me away?” she asked.

“I don’t know, I don’t mean to,
maybe there’s something wrong
with me,” I said.

“No, I think you do. I think you
know exactly what you’re doing
and it needs to stop.”

“Okay. I’ll try my best.”

A few weeks later she was gone
just like the one before her
and the one before that.
I guess I didn’t try my best
or maybe my best
just wasn’t good enough.
I decided I’d have to find
a new woman and give it
another try.

Judge Santiago Burdon

The Fix

I smoke rock
I drink scotch
I like hookers that don’t talk a lot
And I smile from the pain
When the needle plunges through my vein
I don’t need Jesus
to forgive me
My salvation would cost more than I can pray
Absolution can’t be purchased
No matter how many
Hail Marys you say
A bottle becomes a victim
Another soldier I bled to death
Tiny plastic bags lay full of empty
While the drug swims in the blood
Under my flesh
It would take more than an army
of Christian soldiers
On a crusade to save my soul
A futile quest to rescue an empty spirit
That’s been ravaged, robbed, bought and sold
In twisted darkness
Or straightened light
Seeking the venom
Piercing fangs
The healing cure in a snake’s bite
There’s no trust
In a junkie’s smile
No grief in his tear
Rusted words from an acid tongue
Spit out and insincere
Fate left no clue
Just a bruise
My apocalyptic tattoo
Was I the one
That made this choice
Or was it the addiction
Imitating my voice