by Carmella T. Penny He looks like trees in wintertime; cold and tall, slim— and hard. He smells like leaves and winter pine, spicy, crisp-clean backyard. He sounds like caves at twilight time, rumbling deep, soft— and dark. He feels like breeze, the fresh sublime; light hugs, Fall gray— but scarred.
by Christopher Stolle We’re too constrained already,but we’ll do what we can. We sing this hymn to praise you,but we’ve forgotten words. We sit at your chinin this sweet lotus position. Drop your wisdom on uslike petals floating upstream. Tell about supermarketsand howling censorship. We, your staunch disciples,adhere to each…
by Zach Jones My baby’s favorite book is television. Cheap porn is the best thing she’s ever read. Like me, she was raised on the best diet: Bullshit, booze, and Wonder Bread. Her hair is supernatural. A smile of ultra bleach. When we get lucky, the neighborhood knows, ’Cause we paint the town with my bloody nose. I feel commercial. I feel hardcore. I feel American. Drive-thru parasite. Supermarket sloth.