11 a.m.

 

he said

he awoke

with phlegm

in his throat

and

a dirty brunette

fucking with

the sid vicious`ness

of his mind

 

so, he said

he kicked her

off his bed

and she rolled under

and disappeared

like those non`nancy`s

his liver picks up

outside the hollywood liquor

at 11 a.m.

the same liver

that suffers daily

from binge psychosis

and

bullshit poetry

2 Poems – John Sweet

Posted: March 17, 2020 in Uncategorized

the kingdom, denied

 

in these sepia-toned rooms of

memory i relive

25 years of drowning

 

in the season of ascension

we eat only dust

 

and i have these pictures and i

have these poems and i am

not sorry for being thin

enough to fade from view

 

i have no use for your

anger and none for your pain

 

we were there at the table

when the bullet

caught christ in the throat

 

i was fucking your

sister on the afternoon my

grandfather took his

own life and

listen –

 

confession isn’t art

 

the starving know enough

to view your god as nothing

more than so much meat

 

all magic is contained w/in

the moment of revelation

and then all that’s

left is dust

 

 

a long way from home, and bleeding

 

everything revealed,

but not until we’re all dead,

and this is just the way it works

 

i love you

but it’s not enough

 

i hate my life,

and how ordinary is that?

 

was there ever anything to do, really,

but fuck and get high?

 

listen

 

the trick is to forget the past and

close your eyes against the future

 

the trick is to never stop moving

 

we kill what we fear,

we become what we hate and

maybe this finally explains my father

 

maybe a mouthful of broken glass

is all any of us really need

 

nothing ever feels as good as

the pain

we can share with others

 

 

 

*read John Sweet`s bio here

 

1 Poem – Devlin De La Chapa

Posted: March 17, 2020 in Uncategorized

Hangnail

 

i WILL write you

this poem     even if it takes

whiskey, leonard cohen &

biting your fucking fingernails

to finish it!

 


misses Saturday night

 

she closed the        gap

on their

relationship

 

at the bottom of a bourbon glass     

with a 6 pack of

blue ribbon Pabst

and

a toothbrush

once belonging

to johnny cash


Lipstick

 

this is

a

down

on

my luck

poem

 

it doesn`t want

your sympathy

or pity

 

it just wants you

to believe

that it`s

fucking

happy

 

that its

got

its shit

together

 

that it

still

can afford

to pay

for lipstick


a thing of Hollywood

 

i stopped wearing

deodorant.

stopped

shaving my pits,

my crotch,

my legs.

hoping to fall

on brad pitt`s lap.

a free

& unconventional

thing

of macabre

beauty.


dizzying in her daylight

 

the girlfriend left me ’round noon
packed her tampons, her Sex Pistols
and her Jimmy Choos ’cause she couldn’t choose between
me & her narcissistic cat;

I was glad she was gone      got tired of her hairballs

on to week 2 of being single and sexless in a city
populated by pussies & strays;
can’t hold a steady job
but I’m workin’ at a truck stop
binging on porn mags & 5¢ bubble gum
my subscription to YouTube is gettin’ ready to expire

met this lot lizard named something something
she said I was better than the scum prowling for prowl
said she wanted to become a nun
and start a coalition of ‘nuns with benefits’
for the priests the pope and the bishops
but she shunned on the idea when she realized
that she probably couldn’t wear lipstick

said she was a woman
who didn’t like working hard for her money
said that Donna Summer could kiss her ass
and wondered if she was still alive?

I thought the lizard lived in a trailer park
but she just wanted to swing by
and listen to the Gibbs with the squatters; she thought
Travolta was a Bee Gee & the dance floor an alien ship

she was such a fucking ditz, I was missing my ex
and her head trips

but she spun me dizzy, stuck a joint in my mouth
while she chewed birth control pills and spilled
every detail of her life on my lap – I had to tap out at 10
lights out at 12 but she started cleaning my house;
she was a trainwreck in a beehive hairdo
and I wondered if she was a product of a B52;
a love child from the love shack?

then we had sex, rug burn across the kitchen floor
her cunt felt like a good catch on a sunny day …

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