Posts Tagged ‘Poetry Magazines’



Twenty dollars for a blow job, I said.


He smiled, as I jumped in his car.

We drove to his place,

a plush apartment in West Hollywood.


After the dirty work, he sat two twenties on the couch

and went to the bathroom.


I picked up a single twenty

and walked out the door.



he fell in love with me.





Manna Falls

Cardinals bicker

and knock seed from the feeder.

Doves parade below.




Hope in Winter

Robin on the lawn.

Three hops and stops to listen.

Somewhere must be spring.







Memories of Winnipeg

And Crazy Eight Bar

By Michael Lee Johnson


I’m drunk, isolated,

and horny,

I stumble into The Crazy Eight

Bar and it wasn’t my lucky charmed night.

Flirting with Indian women, delusional

with my white ass superiority,

I’m doing card tricks,

and end up getting my guts

and rib cage kicked out.

I’m circled by Métis Indians

no facial war paint

no Indian war bonnets,

but they fooled me.


I’m down eating floor dirt,

and the kicks keep coming-

thick needle toe boots, cowboy style, fast and heavy.

I crawl to my car half dead barely breathing,

collapsed lungs, head on the steering wheel

I somehow how find the hospital.

Spitting blood and Apple Jack wine,

my tan suite is ruined,

I pissed my white pants yellow-

worst of all I deserved it.

So I learn, when in a strange town

find a place where the color of your face fits,

And don’t cheat at cards.





Native I Am, Cocopa

By Michael Lee Johnson


I am mother proud

of the greatest

events that fade before me.

I dig earthworms

and farm dirt

from my fingertips

and grab native

Baja & Southwestern


soil & desert sand

wedged between my

spaced teeth.

My numbers or few or is it only me

a useless decay, dentures

lost in desert sand?

I gain no respect.

I once drank a Budweiser beer

out of the keg in

St. Louis, Missouri

just to make sure I was

born on north American soil.

In my heart digs many memories

and 41 relatives left in 1937.

I see praise & prayers

from native Gods.

I am Cocopa of Yuman family

and extent into the mouth

of many Colorado rivers and mountains.

Mist is my memories.

I survive on corn, melons,

pumpkins and mesquite beans-

add a few grass seeds, a hint of red wine,

burial roots of history faded on







Morning Horny

You wake up so horny

You want to hump



And you want the hump to go on forever

To never stop

To blow fast

To last

This great effort, this

Sexy hump


But your bed’s empty

And you’re all alone

And your hand looks at you

You swear it’s giving you the eye



So you smile back




Words In Use

I hope your

poetic is

deep wet

and wide.


I hope you under



My poetic


hard and



There is







no love




I wanna come back as your tight black skirt

I wanna come back as your tight black skirt

I wanna feel your bend and

move and


I wanna know your shape,

your figure,

your curves

your outline

and feel you

really feel you

your body hot and potent

your body full and ripe

your weight pushing against me

pressing down on me

ready to split and burst

at the seams

I wanna come back as your tight black skirt

and understand you

the woman in you


the sex that you are

like you haven’t got a clue




All I Did Was Admire Her Aloud
“Quiet, please,” I tell her,
“I want to hear the music.”
She is sitting next to me again,
this time on a paisley couch,
a woman in a lime bikini I met
only this morning sprawled
on the Morse Avenue Beach.
All I did was admire her aloud,
not recognize her age, and an hour later
she brought me home with her.
Now she is curling into me again
and moaning at a remarkable pitch.
Finally she spits into my neck
what it’s all about
this time and every time
“Honey…I am…coming.”

On Parenting


Late at night, past any teenager’s


My friend Chris tells me that

Punks don’t have parents.

People who were raised right

Don’t shoot off fireworks at shows,

Destroy shopping carts,

Weigh their jackets down with studs,

Or listen to Minor Threat.

The last time I saw my father,

He punched me in the face.

Super punx.


I once heard a comedian say that

He did not want to be

The kind of dad that inspires art.

My dad called my brother Jake a fag

Back when he had pink hair,

So Jake used it in a song and

Stormed out of the auditorium

Once he was done screaming along to the guitar.


I can’t remember how many times

My mother threatened to leave when I was growing up,

Or how many times I found myself on the floor under her,

Learning just how sorry I was supposed to feel.

Open handed blows only –

She was the good parent, after all.


My childhood taught me that

No good came from talking to social workers.

Well, I did tell that one that he saved my life,

But he was never on my case.

He just writes nice little songs about

Lynching, meth, and never meeting his real father.


It would be too optimistic

To hope that my parents made me

A stronger poet.

That would be giving a lot of credit to

Alcohol and the United States military,

Red wine and grey gun oil,

That I’m not ready to give.



Don’t Fuck Bad Writers


I should have known things weren’t going to work out

When he sent me his short story

And, by the first page,

I knew that a mere eleven pages

Was going to be too long.


He ripped off Metamorphosis.

I didn’t even realize his reading level was that high.

He turned his protagonist into

An end table.

It was called “The End Table.”


I can’t count the number of times

He asked me to marry him and run away

To New York

So we could be a writing team,

Husband and wife;

But it wasn’t exactly clear


Which of us got to be the husband.




Then there’s pussy
There has always been pussy I suppose
Pussy to me is twenty times faster than dial-up
I majored in pussy in college with a minor in spanish but now I’m going back for a MBA
Pussy may be one of the most valuable skills in the 21st century
Without pussy the american economy will collapse
Free pussy was basically the democrats stealing the conservative agenda
That horrible sucking sound
Pussy basically represents the problem with capitalism
Do you want me to send you pussy as an attachment or in the body?
I think what I hear you saying is you’re willing to compromise
It’s supply and demand when you think about it
The reason it takes so long is security
But I think even with that el Niño thing that pussy is getting warmer
One solution is to bring pussy with you when you travel so as not to exhaust the local supply
Another solution is to pump it from other states
Splitting pussy does have the advantage of creating additional senate seats
The privatization of pussy is said to be more efficient but lacks government oversight
Pussy in its own right is an ideal and nothing more
You have the pussy and the pussied as well as the pussifier though according to Aristotle pussy is a state of grace
I wish you could see yourself
The theme of pussy in young adult literature is controversial
The exchange of pussy is really just Keynesian macroeconomics in micro sheep’s clothing
But our disagreement does not change the fundamental idea of pussy as a core value
Our goal should be the spread of pussy in all corners of the world
Pussy isn’t free and as soon as the French admit it the sooner we can get on with things
A pussy tariff will not work
Pussy needs to be chosen not imposed but we can give both financial and moral aid to support those in need of it
And pussy is a bi-partisan issue so the only thing we really need to worry about is a presidential veto
But the important thing to remember is how pussy will affect our children and our children’s children
Thank you
Just hours
Just hours before he kills her
a security camera at a convenience store
captures them both, the uncle and his thirteen year old niece—
he comes in first, doesn’t hold the door for her
and she follows him, arms crossed.
they go off camera for a minute
and we see other people in the store
including the clerk standing next to a phone
then they come to the counter
he’s buying a coffee
and she stands next to him
not looking at anything—
she’s been missing for a few days already
we don’t know if he’s had sex with her
we don’t know how she feels about it
but we know later that another thirteen year old girl
one he’s been fucking since she was nine
will finally turn him in
after he does what he does
but right now we watch him pay for the coffee
and leave
his niece not saying anything to anybody
her arms still crossed
as if she’s cold
following him out the door



Do Say A Few Nice Things About People’s Homes When You Visit


The place is new,

built from the ground up,

big wide rooms, newly painted

a few pictures freshly hung.

There’s no stray hair in the bathroom

or scuff marks on the linoleum.


I stand awkwardly, shifting from foot to foot,

following from room to room,

the beer bottle in my hand

quickly emptied

now starting to sweat.


Look, the closet, she says,

and we walk in,

clothes tumbling off hangers

and piling on the floor.


All this space, she says

and I still don’t have enough room.


I smile and nod, I try to think of something nice to say.


And this, she tells me, will be the baby’s room.

She sighs. Eventually, she tells me.


Soon, I tell her, to say something helpful.


Please she says, a baby is the least I’ll get out of that sonofabitch.

You don’t know what it’s like, she says, turning to look at me.

Living with him.


Come downstairs, she says with a wide smile,

I’ll show you the holes he punched in the basement walls.



Not to Be Happy Is Not Just a Misfortune, It Is a Failure



the man

on the subway tells me.

Pretty girl like you,

what you got


to be

smiling about?


It’s the least

you can do, he tells me,

For the rest of us.







The phobia the tiniest
Reduced from sweat and red
Our foreseen passion
With your hair in a ponytail
Let it fall our bodies moist
Together’s moisture frozen soon forever
The days fall away
Like your hair
we become the
Germs of our love
Microscopic in a petri dish
Growing into
Something scientific that
Laboratories will
Study with ah
All over the world
on the cover
Of the dish “Germilenna
A virus dangerous to mankind
Keep frozen under lock and key”
Germilenna will become the
New ecstasy by the Power of Ten both
Microscopic and telescopic
Best snorted at night
In The Library A Lot
She is having an affair in
The library bathroom
With Martyrs, geniuses
And autobiographers
And audio book readers
Expecting me to believe her
“I am writing a biography
Of you the life of the damned”
She said





“He had a dick

like a horse,”

she said, speaking

of her last lover. “It

was way too big.”


“I thought the bigger the

better?” I said.


“Well,” she

sighed, “up to

a point,

but yours is

much better, much more



“Great,” I said. “What



We were lying

in bed, naked

without blankets.


“Let’s change

the subject,



But she didn’t

seem to hear me. Her body

was there

but her mind was

somewhere else.



at the fucking






The cut

on my dick

is in the shape

of a cross.


My girlfriend

has devout







but not

without guilt.