dAev dembinski
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In The Year Of Our Lord, 1999
i die in the music of windchimes
i am Al Mansor, the avenging Moor
i am a leech
i am a shrink
abe lincoln's head resides in a
fishbowl on my windowsill
he watches me masturbate and
approves
i smoke
i sleep
i am psychic
i take pills to kill that
roses wilt above my blinds
i hate music
i love to sing
i have a 9-string guitar
oh danny boy, the pipe
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elaine thomas
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where fantasies come fromand why:
it's less what's said than isn't,
less what's done than not.
maybe something's implied, perhaps your
mouth doesn't smile so much as suggest,
your fingers brush rather than engage.
maybe you know the buttons,
how and where to press them,
when not to think about pressing them.
this time it was a word, that's all, one word,
that spun me spinning off into motion
but inside, so nobody saw, and it took the
balance of the day to slow me down,
for the fantasies were elaborate,
formed to the last detail:
what was said,
who said it,
what happened then,
whose hand went into which orifice,
the way I begged myself submissive,
how you smiled to see this,
accepting no less than surrender,
giving back more than you took,
all from the one word, the
one you said, and in the saying
swaying me over
to you.
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Scott Holdstad
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...through the trees
they say i shouldn’t write
about death and misery
should be more
positive
that’s the biggest crock
of shit i ever heard
i know i shouldn’t have
kicked God in the nuts
back there, but you
peace loving, happiness
seeking religious do
gooders can suck my
asshole dry
your beauty
is my beast,
gottit?
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rohe
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STAR WARS: The Line
22 years later the old man
didn't get us there
20 minutes late
and I'm not 11 years old
forgiving him,
getting there, mom her
yammering bullshit
thin like AM radio,
the only shit I remember
in line for Star Wars.
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Michael Hathaway
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LIONS 1, CHRISTIANS 0
i glanced out my bedroom window just in time to
see Dancer, my 11-year-old, 14-pound yellow cat,
hopping out of the preacher's brand new
convertible Mazda Miata at the church across the
street. i was horrified, knowing Dancer's territorial
ideology, knowing from experience those unholy
things he does to the insides of cars when the
windows are left down. i ran frantically downstairs,
flung open the door and called him home, before
he had to learn about the Christian obsession with
retribution, what Christians do to those who do
what comes natural. He pranced and danced back home,
pleased with himself. i smiled, "Ba-a-a-ad kitty!"
and fed him a whole can of his favorite food.
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cait collins
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**o, god!**
we became fascinated with
one another through phone
conversation.
we didn't live close.
the day was upsetting and
I drove miles - far away;
passing places I didn't recognize,
new neighborhoods that didn't exist
before;
people playing the day by ear
from 2nd story flower-boxed
balconies;
kids ambitious with adventures
outdoing the spring sun-
light; cats and dogs and
life like that staying
busy and
I thought about him
all of the time...
the night fell fast
all around,
hours gone by and
I pulled alongside a drive-up
phone
beneath a street light ---
at a fuel station ---
we spoke about almost
anything and
joked about illicit
temptations...
talks with him were
exciting and imaginative!...
before long we were into it:
intimate and naughty
sayings
playing
through the phone
line
under a quiet sky and
it didn't seem immoral or
illegal…
then from the mirror
on the side
I noticed a white car pull close
behind…
headlights shone through
the back curtains
of my van...
I hung up and started to drive off ---
like I was.
lights whirled and flickered like
a 4th of July holiday ahead
of time and
sirens screeched:
STOP!
jezus!
there I was:
caught by cops in the middle
of a Mobil gas station, my
pants somewhere
down
near my feet...
twisted and tangled and
they wouldn't pull on, so
I grabbed a blanket
fast
from the other seat
and covered me from the waist
down…
lights flashed through
the window on the passenger
side. I didn't move anything…
their 'you're under arrest'
eyes did it for me…
they took my license,
got in back and checked for
weapons, people, and
other stuff, then they
asked what was under
the blanket on
my lap...
beads of sweat filled the crack
of my mouth ---
my gawd, my voice sounded like a
teeny
mousesqueak:
"me!?"...
well, I guess I got lucky:
they didn't arrest
me
for indecent
exposure
they didn't seize my sex
paraphernalia
and they didn't explore under-
neath that blanket
on my lap...and... o, god!
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trellis
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the monkeys sat in rows studying their programs adjusting their possessions and settling in for the show
vast velvet curtains hung ponderously across the stagehiding secret activity footsteps and rustlings
various bovine murmurings and the occasional cat sex screechingarose from the orchestra pit below filling the apes with anticipation
as the room lights dimmed a divine light shone down from on high
aural nimbi danced upon fuzzy skulls eliciting oohs and aahs from the audience of eager apes
meanwhile back in a dressing room a dignified baboon applied fluorescent purple paint to his protuberant ass and as he finished off his sixth banana smiled into the mirror throwing himself and all the world a big air kiss for luck on this special night
smootch !!
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