I don’t blame you / Well maybe a little / Another reason I keep talking / Like I had a theory of everything / And why you think to live for ever / No great shakes / Too many full moons you say. By Paul Perry.
April 20, 2009
You mistake my head
for a cantaloupe.
Your mouth is speed metal
against dry chalkboards.
I dig your inner thighs
out of my ears.
I wear what’s left of you.
By J. Bradley.
April 3, 2009
Discombobulated,
prone, alone, facing up,
errant wafts of aerosol lilies,
I,
having used up every organ
and passing on the post-mortem,
wonder, who chose the music?
Goddammit, I said when I was dead
I wanted a feast in a field
with pissed people pissing around
swilling whiskey to the dulcet sounds
of Bobbie Gentry and the Grateful Dead,
instead, I have Mozart, Chopin, Brahms,
and some poor bastard I can't even name:
I would've preferred Wagner, loud.
By Dave Oprava.
March 18, 2009
I would have settled for
getting through a poem
without mentioning myself
or writing poems.
Again
I set my sights
too high.
By Miles J. Bell.
March 16, 2009
i had long harboured fantasies of impotence;
but i wasn’t sure how to act on them.
there is always a risk of sabotage / a deep distrust
but it fits perfectly in my hand; if i need to
hold on to something i will hold on to that.
the best answer to power is suspicion, so if you
stand over me like that i will think dark thoughts.
By Colin Herd.
March 6, 2009
He won't let me touch him. On the back of his leg there is a tattoo of a geisha's head cut off, blood spilling from the base of her neck, there to remind him. I rest my head on his knee. The girl he trusted that cheated on him. Calypso. He runs his finger along one of my eyebrows. It feels rough. I tell him I cheated once. Kissed the wrong guy. He pulls his earring out and rubs it against the skin below his nostrils. He wears a solid black shirt and red striped boxers. There's a wet stain to the left of his crotch. By Brandi Wells.
February 25, 2009
Music doesn't escape me.
I hear a distant train's whistle
and then it's gone.
I think of the preacher from church
sermonizing,
while I thought
of the girl who I used to love.
Her eyes big and brown,
her arms thin as a rail.
By Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal
February 13, 2009
There’s a change in the weather today.
You seem not to have noticed.
As you draw the curtains the telephone rings;
voices cry like children fed the same line
over and over again. There was a change
in the things trampled on the street today
but like an engineer you believe
in a certain shaped solution.
Through the window,
from the chair I strapped myself into,
even there I could not help but notice
the line of cars iced over,
dragging one by one into the other.
By Alan Jude Moore.
April 28, 2008
i spend a lot of time
thinking about
what i would like to put in
my mouth
coins and paperclips
your left pinky finger
the letter “S”
and then 220 volts of electricity
By Kendra Grant Malone.
March 29, 2008
TODAY I HOPE I ACCIDENTALLY GET HIT BY A BUS.
THAT WAY, PEOPLE WILL LOOK BACK ON EVERYTHING I DID IN MY LIFE AND THINK ABOUT HOW SPECIAL IT WAS BECAUSE I GOT ACCIDENTALLY HIT BY A BUS AND KILLED.
THE DRIVER WOULDN’T HAVE TO FEEL BAD BECAUSE IT’D BE AN ACCIDENT.
IF S/HE DOESN’T KILL ME. I AM PREPARED FOR THAT TOO—
WHEN THEY GET OUT OF THE BUS TO CHECK ON ME, I’LL BE LIKE “COULD YOU PLEASE ROLL OVER MY HEAD AND FINISH ME? I AM IN PAIN” By Sam Pink.
May 18, 2009
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