Posted: May 29, 2013 in Fiction, Poetry
Tags: , , , , , , ,

I, Makeup

a shaft of nylon. mascara was quickly gaining pictures.

the transplanted injury of large eyes the frenzy of

boobs packaged, shipped and sold.

singing women were born of  ash or lampblack

and positioned figures were impaled.

this action of languages that were rubbed

until a rash glowed under an etch-a-sketch ™.

a chemical showing all the failures that slurped her substance ,

an eroticization of low-dose, the will between mouths;

the Love Company agitated surreptitiously

in  a mold of water that prompted protective instincts.

as the hidden kept flickering as a mad tight mouth, gulped, swallowed.

cosmetic scars of Ancient Egypt signs of reproductive tissue

rubbed against injections, tasted sex appeal,

love walking on a heated mixture of Max Factor lash.

the third of three pumping specimens climaxed as bosoms pressed

into glass for each use. then a fibrous cord substance heard

the sounds of the rapid counting of the still-life translations of an ovary.




pain symphony quotidian


start of a symphony forgiven


there is a place

“i’m sorry.”


She gasped at the plan:

(he had died slumped over his desk

after she was suffocated by the nightingales

that were proud of the children’s fears – afterwards they hid in the back alley

fucked by time and fucking for life)


“you are only occasional lust. we snuggled in our cells.”

she read me her stories

there is a place behind a wall where static breeds.



silence and abandonment for

a scalding clinging function

sweat touches sweat

a moan as a result of vessels draining


i hated that.


i met with a body.

i could taste particles.

these foreign things

embedded inside her

that make her laugh

there’s a place.


“tell me another story before i lay down.”

she breathed wet into my left ear

then we went outside into the street

where the electricians had wired up the crowd

and pulled the switches.


the drummers

died slowly

and collapsed.

we laughed.


there’s a place.

there’s a place.

where the psycho-cats

lick the bricks.



she hits her chest 3 times.


wail baby



a soft monotone

working it

“this stuff’ll kill ya.”

dogging me while gulping benzedrine


she walked them down

the stone steps

holding the leashes of 4 dogs

her neck encircled with 4 onyx collars.


negation of the wanderers

a kiss for the spectacle

betrayed by the images generated


just for them.


a walk in silence.


the cars make sounds but it’s not important

black hair leopard skin coat

shoes at the end of shapely nyloned legs

a generation of multiple puzzles

jigsaw spilled on concrete.


negation of the wanderers

a quick run to the church-

a spanish moss touches in our groins-

a laugh from the spectacle-

a manipulation (it’s proud)-

a skin removed.


blood spilled.

a thing is gorged and it’s at rest


just a puce moment

just a burn for our flesh

  1. angelferox says:

    Dear Jeremy, Thank you so much for publishing my work. I had a mistake in my submission: were the electricians had wired up the crowd

    should read: where the electricians had wired up the crowd

    If you could correct it that would be wonderful. if not, we can leave it as is. Thanks again! Peter

    Date: Wed, 29 May 2013 14:24:54 +0000 To:

  2. Callum says:

    Nice work Peter.

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