Halving a Baby

"The Custodian" by Barnabas DuCoudray

2007-03-29T11:23:00.000-04:00

I wrapped my legs around him
like a dying spider
embracing its last victim
and his skin was colder
than a draft blowing bone dust
across the floors
in a frost-bitten tomb.

Why are you so cold?
Because you killed me.
That's impossible.
No. Quite possible.
But why would I do that?
Because you're a bad person,
and you're in love with me.

Despite his claim, I am not.
A bad person, I mean.
I am indeed in love with him.
I had been ever since I killed him.
Which I still deny doing.
Before he was dead
I didn't like him too much, though.

I remember thinking to myself,
What if I killed that son of a bitch,
the one who smiles so smugly
to himself when he's reading in the cafe?
Then I laughed and laughed
(internally)
comforted by my self-knowledge,
the possibility of murder
as funny as a perfectly told joke.

Then I did not wait for him
outside his home at 6:15 AM
with a steak knife in my hand.
There's no way that I stabbed him
thirty-two times (can you say excess?)
before I came home and washed
the blood off in the shower.

But I did find his body
at the funeral home where I clean
the floors and walls, waiting
for me with his eyes closed.
I turned the lights off,
kicked my clothes to the floor,
and whispered so softly
only ghosts could hear me,
I wish I could have killed you
more than once, my darling.

"The Sharp Perfume of Dissection" by Barnabas DuCoudray

2007-03-27T08:01:00.000-04:00

Inhale
that pungent potpourri
of a split corpse,
the abdomen opened
as if yawning,
the warm tangle of organs
c o o l i n g
under a single light bulb
in a dusty wine cellar.

You can smell
the years,
good and bad,
spill onto the table
and drip onto the concrete,
a damp metallic stink
like pennies clenched
in the fist
of a sweaty dead hand.

Sometimes I stand
over the corpse,
my nostrils embracing
the sting
of drying entrails,
my mouth heavy,
s w a l l o w i n g
the fragrance
of curdling blood.

You can search
in every darkened
patch of wilderness,
a lifetime's worth of
s e a r c h i n g,
and never find
a perfume like this.
Human life
in lukewarm puddles,
a waft of suffering,
the stab of immorality,
nose-deep
in red-stained truth.

"Slow Jam in the Sky" by Gabriel Caplan

2007-02-22T07:48:00.000-05:00

The slow jam caressed our living room atmosphere like knuckles from a velvet fist. Not-a-one of us could escape the motley diction of singer and backup singers invading and destroying our inhibition. I took a chance; "pay $25 for vaccine fees."

Damn! The pot of money in the center of the DOGOPOLY board started small enough, but grew steadily as if feeding off the erotic tension created through Chicago's supine voices and our wandering glances. There must have been two thousand bones in the pile. That's when Trisha grabbed the fake money and made a run for the door. Needless to say the heavy fog of sexual expectations was shattered: especially in the way Larry gave chase.

Trisha had almost made it out the apartment door when Larry dove, smashing his face on the wooden floor but managing to grasp her ankle. Cindy-Lou and I, both shocked into an initial silence, were jostled enough by the sound of Larry's teeth and jaw smashing. We arose and hurried over.

You ever seen the most terrible thing in existence? Its when a wolf has its paw caught in a trap and must chew its own fucking leg off to escape! Instinct tells it to keep moving and free itself and there is only one choice. When I first heard about this scenario as a child I cried. It has haunted my imagination since. You can imagine my horror seeing Trisha bent over, fake cash in one hand stretched away, and chewing at her fucking ankle. Gnawing and chewing…."

Bite his wrist! Not your ankle," Cindy-Lou yelled out. But it was too late. Trisha had freed herself and was off again. Larry was coming to consciousness and then slowly fading into the Slow Jam in the sky as he watched Trish's hips sway by.

"Untitled" by Pedro Marrero

2007-02-21T07:37:00.000-05:00

And like a king
In my hand
I held a rose
Of many deaths.
And each death,
Heir to countless tears
Emptied itself of its golden
Filaments,
and filled itself
in with the airy space
of a jade circle,
In my hands...

"One Glorious Night" by Barnabas DuCoudray

2007-02-20T07:16:00.000-05:00

You can wait your whole life,
your whole god damn life,
shitting yourself in anticipation
for a glorious night like this:

I'm five-foot nothing,
skinny-assed and fat-stomached,
my nose too long, my dick too short,
my eyes grey and twitching.

She's the best a used revolver
and a sandwich bag of opium can buy.
Duke said, "I usually ain't much for tradin',
but she's yours for the night, pardner."

So I took her to a movie
and we laughed and laughed
as spinal columns snapped
and skulls collapsed on the screen.

And we went out for steaks
and she smirked as the blood wormed
down my bearded chin.
The meat tore easily in my teeth.

And then after too much cheap wine
she unzipped my torn jeans
and I fucked her armpit until I screamed
and painted her shoulder.

Then we talked about love.
She said, "What about it?"
I said, "It's funny, ain't it?"
She said, "Fuck my armpit again."

So I did.
And I came blood and my eyes went white
and I thought Satan had crawled up my dickhole
and was killing angels in my sack.

I woke up and she was dead,
split from mouth to belly-button
like vicious hell-bound lightning
had torn her lovely body in half.

I returned her to Duke in a red suitcase.
He said, "You party hard, my friend."
I drummed my fingers on the suitcase
and wept silently on Duke's shoulder.

"There, there," he said.
The clouds blackened overhead,
a dead bird fell from the sky.
"There, there," he said.

"Charlie Chew" by Adam K. Ewing

2007-02-19T07:42:00.000-05:00

Standing in the corner of an empty room in the big building on Trent Street, hiding face and gun against the wall, peeking out into sunlight to get an occasional taste of life, lick of sky. Charlie slides up to the window and leans the barrel of his rifle out, squinting down its lengthy smoothness. He could almost spit, almost drool along the metal and watch it glisten and fall to the waiting streets below.
He sights on the children in the playground across the street, his head cocked, mouth grinning. Twisted teeth bite down on the insides of his cheeks so blood goes squirt and drip when he smiles out to the sun, the sky, the children playing.
Click. He loads, thinking of the past.
Clack. He grins, blood drips at the memories.
That first Christmas, sound of wrapping paper, smell of baking turkey, taste of candy-cane turning your tongue and mouth sticky-mint…
He shifts his knees into a better position. The gun makes subtle creaking sounds against the old wood of the windowpane. He sees a blonde boy wearing a red sweatshirt.
That first time you kissed a girl, your teeth clicking on hers in your inexperience. Blue summer skies and blue eyes to match, falling in love. Falling in arms, hair, soft, wet, loved. Forever loved…
He peers through the gun-sight, lined up, so perfect. Perfection caught in steel. He grins and more blood slides out the corners of his mouth. His thoughts buzz on, his only friends.
That first time you slid a girl’s panties off, the way she lifted her hips to help you. Coarse secret-hair against your palm, smell of sunscreen, body-tan like leather take me away take me away to the beach to the sun to the sky I just want to float away…
Charlie floats away as he squeezes the trigger again and again. His cheeks begin to tingle unpleasantly as he bites through their nerve-endings. Blood squirts from his smile to match the blood out on the tar below him.
The children go quiet.
They bleed from different smiles."

"Bobby Kennedy Liked to Disco Dance" by Shane Frasier

2007-02-18T07:28:00.000-05:00

The epitaph should have been different
But the Kennedy's feared mockery
From a ugly and revolting society
Bobby danced like a fool they said
Feet to the floor like Travolta with a fever
Arms stretched out to the beats of ABBA
Politics were a mistake, Bobby admitted this
Never should have entered a career his brother took
Shot in the head and entered into the books
Now Bobby's eyes are closed
His career in dance is what he should have strived for
Cause if he had he would have been staying alive

"With the Mountains Rising" by Laura Vladimirova

2007-02-17T11:40:00.000-05:00

Felons dance the salsa with alligator loafers on,
tattered from the pacing back and forth and their
swing blade hips.

Running peeling fingers through hair
in mountainous vines,
rubbing off monster red lipstick, but thinner.

tiny vacations taken
from the day in and out of alls well that ends well,
conversations conclude on banana peel post-it notes.

Once, phone calls cost
veteran arms and legs,
and tongues were dipped in honey
or at least sliced open to bleed better.

Hands spoke for those missing at sea,
in small spaces across the waters.
Stuffed in vodka bottles,
salt water mistaken for more.

Last night, I was drunk on blind fashion
on plastic bags
and liquid soap.
I spewed forth toilette water
reeking of synthetic roses.

Dropped the bottle, in disgust
into a mound of dog shit,
the last drop sunk into the filth,
the bottle lay hollow,
like the eyes of criminal statues.

"HYPERRELIGIOUS MAN" by Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal

2007-02-16T07:52:00.000-05:00

He is fine
until he
begins to
talk about
God. He goes
off into
worlds no one
understands.
He gets up
on tables
and preaches
out loud. He
becomes a
man no one
wants to hang
around with.
He predicts
the future,
the end of
days, and screams
the sermons
of a God
so wrathful,
that everyone
in the world
is hell bound.

"Nightmare #22" by Mike Caprio

2007-02-15T11:34:00.000-05:00

A party of seven wandered across a trackless, endless desert. Their minds wore thin, as thirst and heat punished their bodies. There was no hope, no oasis of safety waiting over the next dune. Soon they began sharing their hallucinations... and somehow they were all fighting over slices of a lime, sucking on the juice and pulp of a fruit that didn't exist and trying desperately to get sustenance from it.

One of the party looked up, and saw six suns beating mercilessly down upon them. As he watched, with his hands shielding his eyes, they suddenly started to align and began to form the shape of a cross.

"Oh Jesus Christ!" he shouted, "Save me! Preserve me!!"

The man disappeared, and in his place, hovering in the sky, was a radially symmetrical creature: green on the outside with red blotches in the middle, several feet in diameter, and a single serpentine eye in the center. It fell to the ground with a sickening plop.

Another man cried out to the empty air: "You fool! Your need summoned Tau Ra, when the stars were right! He was gone, and you brought him baaaack! Nooo!" He clawed at his head and eyes in a frenzy as he screamed.

Someone else poked Tau Ra with a stick, and the creature swelled and exploded like a jellyfish - but the explosion was really a growth spurt. Eventually it would grow large enough to cover the whole planet once more...

"Feel Good" by Angel Yau

2007-02-14T07:35:00.000-05:00

It makes me feel good. It makes me excited. It makes me feel alive. But I must stop. It makes me feel vulnerable. It makes me feel weak. It makes me feel disgusted with myself.
It seems like it was a natural step. Of course I was the late bloomer. But one taste of that sweet sweet sweetness, I was hooked. I wanted more and more. And it wasn't because I couldn't control myself. I just was happier. With my life.
"It's too much of a risk," I told Eddie.
"Lenny, look. If you're careful, you'll be fine." Eddie flew around me. "You ain't bad lookin'. You gotta suck some time! You gotta stick that shit into someone already."
"I don't think I'm ready. I don't want some disease."
"Disease this!" He smacked my head with 3 of his legs.
I remember my first victim. She was 5. I could smell her age. She had a sweaty strawberry scent. She should be clean. Her blond pigtails and anti-spill cuppy said so.
I remember circling around her. Debating whether to just fly away or land. Then I couldn't decide which part of her I should land on. I remember Eddie telling me the butt was the most satisfying. But that is a myth.
I liked her. She didn't notice me like most people do. She let me fly around her. Be close to her. I felt comfortable. I felt safe. I was never that physically close to a human being before and right then I understood. I understood what the big deal was all about.
It wasn't just the taste of it. It's the moment when you realize you can keep part of someone inside of you for a little bit. I decided to learn her name before I stick whatever to whomever.
I landed on Tiffany's arm. Probably the basic place to start. I didn't want to try something fancy… or make a fool of myself. She didn't notice. I liked that. Her scent was emcompassing me. I couldn't even think. I caressed her skin with my… 8 legs? Hell, I couldn't even remember how many legs I had!
I don't even remember how it happened. But it did. It was a little painful at first, but it felt good. And after a while it felt real good. Heaven. When I released, I tried to look at her face. See how she felt. She didn't give a reaction. In fact I think she didn't noticed I did it to her.
Disappointed, I flew away. I turned around to take one more look at Tiffany. And there she was scratching her arm. Scratching it like she's ready for lift off. Scratching it till she was crying."
I had a mixture of feeling stimulation, accomplishment and sorrow. And from that day on I did not try to find out what their names were.

"Something Personal" by Theresa Magario

2007-02-13T07:40:00.000-05:00

Tell me, hey, what it is
That makes you-
I see your body curled in bed
Desirable naked
Suffering things I can't put a name on
I see the effect of lightning's reach
Its fingers down from under your hair
Deep under the surface
All throughout the red meat
Screaming- IT'S ALIVE!
A limb spasms
Then another
It's normal
(Normal for who, huh?)
How can I make this work?
I have to find a way to fit myself around you
Holding this awkward shape in my arms
Beating itself into a hard ball of jaded tears- and how bitter!
My hands touch on the outside
Barely explaining the mad thoughts of life in my head
The crack of your bones warns me of hurt
Even though smiles stretch out
There are sparks here
Just the wrong kind

Anthing I can do?
Any requests?

(Whisper:
Fight the gods for me.)

"sermon" by Rob Plath

2007-02-11T08:23:00.000-05:00

for your information
god is dead
a dark eyed, dark haired girl
obsessed with sex & poetry
is god
her bare back in the moonlight
is all i will ever know
of god
her tiny wrists are a thousand scriptures
burn the bible
tear up the koran
throw the upanishads into the sea
god is she
god is she

"Remembering Anna Nicole Smith" by Misti Rainwater-Lites

2007-02-10T08:48:00.000-05:00

we were both born to poor uneducated white families

in the lone star state

you were more ambitious than i could ever hope to be

you got the blonde hair

you got the big titties

you got the rich old man

i got black brown red gray hair

i got little titties

i got a poor young man

now you're dead and making celebrity trash addicted minds

forget all about the psychotic diaper wearing astronaut

and the war over yonder

larry king says you had class

i won't touch that one with a ten foot pole

some people compare you to marilyn

some people fart out their mouth

when they speak

i just scratch my ass

and change the channel

"Dying In The Big House" by Christopher Woods

2007-02-09T08:01:00.000-05:00

Back in those days, folks was more stupid. Drive in for gas, buy some pop, gum, candy bars, all the joy stuff. Then they’d go on their way. Maybe they’d leave the bathrooms dirty. That always set me off good. So I told Big John, we got to take our revenge, pure and simple. Big John, he knew what I was talking about.

That’s how it started. Sometimes it was every twenty-fifth customer. Hell, John couldn’t count that high, but I graduated third grade. Sometimes if their sale rang up to an even dollar, that was the signal. From God. Or if they looked at us funny. Or if they didn’t look at us at all. Now, that would burn me. No sign of respect!

We’d take the lucky one inside, tie him up till we was good and ready. Me or Big John drove that car into the muddy river. Ain’t nobody gonna find it there this lifetime. Then we’d go to work. Taking those lucky (heh heh) ones apart, arm by arm, leg by leg. Getting hungry while we worked. Making stew. Oh boy, making stew.

All gone now. The old gas station. That damned good stew. Me going grey and old, almost disappeared. These days, I eat my own memories.

Halving a Baby, Re-Animated

2007-02-09T07:54:00.000-05:00

Dear readers and writers,

It is with great pleasure that I announce the re-animation of Halving a Baby. After a period of time dedicated to my own writing I realized how much enjoyment I receive from this little blood-soaked literary excursion. So, please keep sending submissions to bducoudray@gmail.com and I will post a new piece each day. The best to you all.

Grotesquely,
Barnabas DuCoudray

"SEX IN AN EARLY GRAVE" by Lisa Shred

2007-01-19T09:53:00.000-05:00

I WANTED TO GO DOWN TO WHERE THE DUMB ADULTS DON'T GO
DOWN UNDER SO FAR WHERE YOU CAN SEE ITS HIGHER
DOWN UNDER THEIR SPHERE WHERE I CAN WEAR MY OWN ATTIRE
I WANTED TO BE FREE OF CONSCIOUSNESS AND ALL BATTLES
I'M DEAD BUT YOU DON'T NOTICE
YOU NOTICE ONLY MY SADNESS
I'M FREE BUT YOU DON'T NOTICE
HOW I CAN LOVE NOW, FREE OF STRAINS
I WANTED TO HAVE SEX IN AN EARLY GRAVE
NOT TOO EARLY BUT NOT TOO LATE
BEFORE IT WAS TOO LATE
FOR NOTHINGNESS BEFORE I COULDN'T DEPEND ON CONSCIOUSNESS
SEX IN AN EARLY GRAVE WITH YOU
FULFILLING ALL MY DREAMS THAT ARE FINALLY
COMING TRUE
WIELDING AND UNYIELDING PAST DESIRES
NOT DRESSED IN FORMAL FUCKING ATTIRE
DREAMING OF WHERE THE PEOPLE DON'T LOOK
WHERE THEY DON'T PUT MY LOGIC INTO THEIR BOOKS
I WANTED TO FUCK YOU IN AN EARLY GRAVE
DIG YOUR BONES OUT-- FUCK YOUR BRAINS
I WANTED TO WISH MYSELF A STAR
AND JOIN YOU WHERE YOU NOW ARE
I WANTED TO DIE 1000 DEATHS
BECOME A SAGE, A GOD, BUT NOT A MESS
I WANTED TO BEND ALL THE SAD RULES
I WANTED TO ENJOY FEELING THE BLUES
I WANTED TO SPREAD YOUR LEGS APART
AND WALK WITH YOU ON AIR AND IN ART
I WANT TO BE NOT FORGOTTEN, NOT ADORED
JUST SIMPLY LOVED
I DON'T ASK FOR MUCH MORE.

"Lies in Black" by Rainer Kalwitz

2006-12-15T07:42:00.000-05:00

"The Linguist" by William Owen

2006-12-13T07:37:00.000-05:00

I let the little fingers slip thinking they couldn’t stand to hold on anymore. When they were done they said addled and I was left behind in the room with only my hand. I hurt myself trying to picture the pretty girls and they took out a piece above my eye.
My hair is growing in. My forehead isn’t crusty anymore, but it feels like they left a worm under the skin. Can I call it skin? Should it be a scalp?

They shouldn’t have put the worm under my scalp, because now the worm is growing. We’re going to be too big to stay here. They’ll have to move us. We’ll have to finish the alphabet first. They aren’t recognizing the arbitrary characteristics and they try to move them. We only have these teeth and they end up falling away without looking at them again and put a pin in us. The worm isn’t bothered by it. He says they’ll get there, we just can’t let them disturb it. He says we should just let the pin go in, then we’ll look like flat, and they’ll stay out of the room and we can keep working on the verb constructions and imperative conjugations.

I’m peeling the fibers out of the walls one by one and using them to spell. They just look at it when they come in, but once I’ve worked out the phonetics I’ll try using it. I hope they understand because I’d like them to get better. They have such potential. They wish to be great people.

"American" by Lisa Shred

2006-12-12T07:22:00.000-05:00

PRODUCTION
PRODUCTION
Everyminutelostinlifeisaclock'sguilttrip
Every
Unsophisticated nobody
With no money
Instills examples of
DISAPPROVAL AND FEAR
Judgement!
Anger management, psychotherapy, no MSG or caffeine, no Prozac wraps
eaten from corporate conglomerates down all the real estate streets
No thought control from bricks in the walls
of the White Houses
That we scrape the day to mortgage ourselves from
No house wine
In a summer ice glass to show off on your neighbor's boat!
No
Calorie-free salt
* unless you call toll-free today while supplies last!
For tomorrow is a HOLIDAY.
No
One week's vacation a year or white picket fences to allow no coffee time for the soul!
For what would you get done?
No
White sneakers screaming down the Champs d'Elysees about the lack of service!
On the edge of a colon cleanse, a worthless time machine,
and
Yet
* no eggs on the side, please!

"Motion In Music" by Middlepoet

2006-12-11T07:42:00.000-05:00

Their breath
Collapsed into one entity
One being
Pulsating
Throbbing in line
The bass and the drum
Together they cast a snare
Giving the universe a kick

Our bodies
Swayed
Communion of
Hips hushed
The hum of the house speakers

Primal evolution
Took place during
The revolution
Of the record

Burned by a man to a disc

We communed on rocks of black
Hi-jacked from
Africa and renamed theSun

But her sun
Was conceived the night of
First
Communion

A seed nestled in the womb of vulnerability
A sanctity we did not take for granted

* * * * * * * * * *
( Middlepoet is the editor for Shouted Whisper. Visit it at
www.shoutedwhisper.com )

A Painting by Dan Springer

2006-12-11T07:29:00.000-05:00

Check out some more of Dan's work at

http://www.caricatureking.blogspot.com/

"Edge" by Christopher Major

2006-12-10T07:48:00.000-05:00

Face was white,
eyes two piss holes
in the snow,
forearms and groin
covered in scabby dots
no one needed
to join to know.
Antibiotics a must;
so double gloved
I search a road map
on jaundiced limbs,
supply lines collapsed
and cratered.

Soon,
she's morphed
to a piss stain
and a smell;
a growing need
pushing her to an exit,
an edge,
the side of a crumbling life....

From the "Dumbbunnies" Collection by Kim Gaul

2006-12-10T07:44:00.000-05:00

Visit Kim's site and see the rest of her incredible collection at http://www.kimgaul.com/dumbbunnies.htm

"Twist the Knife in the Bladder of Madness" by Duane Honeydew

2006-12-09T12:05:00.000-05:00

Kill the hummingbird, and kill it good.
Not since 'Nam have I been this happy.
Ultraviolence? Flavor of the day, monsieur.
Can you smell the blood under my nails?
Ketchup stains scream on my plaid underwear.
Lunch break was full of screams again.
Every dead man has his day to rot.

"Gutter Poet" by Michael Subrizi

2006-12-08T08:39:00.000-05:00

cooks the truth
oozing drool sweat or stool
begging to give up all he's got
for this starving world
which is really a lie to try
yeah he can find the street
or walk side by side with the beat
but he'd rather stay in the seams
yell out just what he think
sending with a big belch of contradiction
forcing to world to swallow his breath
ignored or obsessed
everyone is stuck in what they profess
and he's no exception
expecting too much of them all
while trying to completely forget about himself
like it or not the curb is not high enough to hide
behind
the grates below the ground catch the trash
hold onto your own hats catch the ash with no hassle
toast to your health ladies and gents
drink what's left in your cups
the gutter poet will spit it back
in your foaming faces
you know you deserve it
grin and take it

Sorry for the Unexpected Hiatus

2006-12-08T08:30:00.000-05:00

Dear remaining readers and contributors,
I am a terrible person. I am a terrible writer. And above all, I am a terrible blogger. Sorry for the unannounced break that lasted two devastating weeks. I will now continue the absurdity and post a new piece a day, just like in the good ol' times that existed before my inexplicable lapse.

Also, I am trying to organize a "Halving A Baby" reading, so anyone interested in either reading or performing in some way should contact me at bducoudray@gmail.com as soon as possible. Thank you for making "Halving A Baby" one of the creepiest, blood-soaked dark corners of the web. Cheers.

Love, Barnabas DuCoudray

"Anthem Belchings Like Ghost Sheep on the Hills" by Duane Honeydew

2006-11-22T07:45:00.000-05:00

Narcotics wormed their way into the chilli.
Alarms woke me from a turkey-fueled slumber.
Train station rats sang anthems until morn'.
Impish Dobermans gnaw on my numb feet.
Opportunity awaits, says the green monster.
Never EVER cough unless you mean it.
Apes wear god damn penny-loafers in this place.
Listen to the eye-balls melt in the distance.
Impossible is just a word used to kill endangered species.
Sincerity is the bleeding genital wound of America.
Master, please forgive me for the hatchet attack.

"Dead Charlie Mountain" by Barnabas DuCoudray

2006-11-21T07:10:00.000-05:00

You should have seen me
back when I was in the war.
A damn perfect physical specimen.
One of the killer elite.
I used to be able to kill a man
using just my stare.
I tell you, I think I could
have won that war by myself.
God damn one man army.
I miss those days. That was living.
The wind in my face, the gun
strapped across my back,
the mud on my boots, my knife
in some sorry son of a bitch,
a splatter of red on my face...
I must have killed enough of them
to make a god damn mountain.
Dead Charlie Mountain.
Sometimes my leg cramps up,
the one that took the bullet,
and sometimes I wake up screaming
with the taste of blood in my mouth.
But I'd do it again, that's for sure.
I miss those days. That was living.

"The Sound of a Cocky Alert" by Michael Dolan

2006-11-19T07:41:00.000-05:00

Whoop! Whoop! That's the sound of a cocky alert.
Whoop! Whoop! That's the sound of a cocky alert.
Why did I drink whisky?
Do Cocaine, and eat at Crif Dogs?
Why is Bed-Stuy so far from the Lower East Side?
Why is my ass clenched so tight Jude Law couldn't fuck it?
Please! Old Man!
Give me those Depends!
Quickly, 'lest this G Train turn into a Port-O-Potty.
You! Yuppie! Hand me the cork, From that fine bottle of wine!
I'm in need of a plug to hold back this fly-arrhea!
Franklin Ave.? Surely, those fancy jeans will be soiled by Myrtle-Willoughby.
Still, I would do more coke if given the opportunity,
And a chance to hide these shit stains, from the Nordic
College soccer player, who insists on following me home,
In golden light, the avatar of L.L. Cool J appears.
'Explosion. Overpowering'.

"Demon" by Francis Powell

2006-11-18T06:41:00.000-05:00

Shuffle closer

If you dare

You wonder demon

The primed tip

Of your rapacious tongue

Swinging like a pendulum

Follow every contour

Prowl around,

I’m your habitat,

your dwelling.

Down my spine

I dare you

Now pleasure, now pain

Dance on my torso

Deep into my rib cage,

now tender and raw

Extract the juices

That ooze within me

Take a bite of passion

Have a part of me

Of my tender flesh

I summon you

Like an exorcist

might a demon

from the unclean bedclothes

of one possessed

A child, an innocent

Ranting unfamiliar words

That come from the mouth

Of an ugly bygone era.

Spawning a terrible diatribe

Oh come within

Offer yourself

Don’t keep all shrouded

Buried under the piles

Those divisive layers

Of stored passion

That burdened heap

Let’s resurrect

Those darkened moments

Once again

"Úna" by Cheryl DePra

2006-11-17T07:43:00.000-05:00

she drives home half-dead
lacquered nails on the wheel
baby crying ’side her head
cold as winter steel

black cat in the back
screaming pinion and crown wheel
gray streak of whisker jack
and its spinning round o’er ice

zigzagging reel
God’s playing his dice
blood congeals
in one quick slice

she drives home half-dead
lacquered nails on the wheel
baby hemorrhaging lead
cold as winter steel

"Morbid Sortid Rhyming Story" by Emel

2006-11-16T09:12:00.000-05:00

Running from rent
renting rummage
selling entrenched
Stomachs covered in lint
govermint pins puncture
provide cover
convert
Remarkable sins,
into marksmen martyrs and pimps
Circus existence pride of the heard living in
Sacrifice divided advice alive
in line with every rotten bit that I imbibe
intestines tested by alchohols presence
drinking to ease the pressure of umbrellas
drenched in the hell of
an anxious passage through the underground hatch
Burning at the end of an
unlit filterless cigarette
dipped in fun dip and yip
split lungs to boot
an overfuled underpayed stomach to use,
paint the days from the bottoms of shoes
The bottomless pit
a pet game
giving gifts to get names
subletting self to lift fame
Living to reframe visions
of the mirror version person
shining back deserving
burning stacks of heavy pollen dust
melting gardens
ardent to start cars illeagaly parked
outside of the apartment
a part went the way intended
to spray ray gun reflections
off of a stop sign
slams you
into a ditch
dirt digging
filled to the brim
with sin
forgiving the inch worm
us cause he doesn't give a shit
about this slow paced role play
ready to win
way to live
flag at half mass death
to represent
whats left of the best
yet again

"Possession" by Tom Deacon

2006-11-14T07:34:00.000-05:00

Visit www.tomdeacon.com for more of Tom's fantastic work in various mediums.

"The Blood We Never Spill" by Michael Subrizi

2006-11-13T08:09:00.000-05:00

Come closer to the candle
Shiver and dream
Whathaveyouseen whathaveyouseen
Our prickly fate
All hearts pounding as one
One last dash for the bastard prince
Consumed by his orphan princess
Twisted in weightlessness
In our arms we hold our legs
Direction no longer lost or led
The rain has frozen

"Pancreatic Seizures in the Tomb at Midnight" by Duane Honeydew

2006-11-12T08:06:00.000-05:00

No one ever told me I was pretty.
Elementary school shattered my will to succeed.
Antelopes make me want to die.
Never trust a bloody-fanged chimp.
Dawn of The Dead is my favorite war film.
Every time I smile I pee a little.
Ruining movie endings for strangers is fun.
The Taj Mahal is a piece of crap.
Hank Williams spends his nights crocheting.
Angels spanked me into the monster I am today.
Low and behold, I am the elephant man.

"Steel Sharks" by Robert Plath

2006-11-11T08:22:00.000-05:00

The other day
I saw
a funeral
procession

the sleek
gray
hearse
leading
the way

like a
steel shark
with a coffin
in its belly

a
gill-less
kind

head-lighted
snout

its
metal bowels
bottomless

"In the Mountains" by Christopher Woods

2006-11-10T07:54:00.000-05:00

The sign at the foot of their mountain warns people to drive away, to go no further, not even to exchange a word with any of them.

They wait in trees or behind boulders. Who truly knows how it began for them? Long ago, we know, when a boy climbed into bed with his mother one terrifying, thunderstruck night. And his son, and so on, all sharing in a rancid love that has continued for generations, an aberrant tree growing perplexingly into itself.

No one can be certain of his relation to another. Some don’t have the mind to contemplate certainty. They have stepped beyond even the animals they hunt. Dim folk, for whom lust is common as breath, who spend life falling in and out of a love they cannot know. For them, the only law is passion.

Beware their tendency to wander. Their thoughts are as thick as smoky morning air, when they leave their worn nests, descend to the foot of the mountain to watch for us, travelers. They wait and hope we will ignore the sign and enter their world, climbing inside the grasp of their always fevered loins.

"You Can't Fall" by Chris Melendez

2006-11-09T10:06:00.000-05:00

hers is a shine that clouds protect
discrete
is the lesson mothers preach
far below
our ephiphany's course beneath the horizon
clear of the mornings haunting reminders

(a tear from a monolith)

I admit
worshipping something that stars envy isn't simple
paying tribute
becomes another broken record easing me to sleep
virgin pride can't survive another night
against sands running through splintered hands
offerings
faded pictures replace petty sacrifices
my patience reminds others of her absence
holding a fire that lost significance in the gaze of her frailty
wise
decisions
lose
weight
on
color
blind
scales
redefining tree branch theories
bleeding the space that sleeps at her feet
now we both come into play
i won't show any subtle signs of stray
it's an illusion we practiced when silence couldn't sit near her
often making sounds to attract her mercury like abstract
do you think we can watch each other without losing
balance?

"Leader" by Christopher Major

2006-11-08T08:00:00.000-05:00

Big for his age,
status raised each
column inch given
to misdemeanours
in the local 'rag' :
shop lifter,
joy rider,
thug.
Sprayed name common
on local estates
as "Hi" or "Hello"
were rare.
A burglar
and brawler
who one Friday night
had a fall from grace,
( 6 foot 10 years to mumble "Mum"),
another wanting
the life he had,
which was then,
'bout a week and a half.........

"Mephisto and I" by Barnabas DuCoudray

2006-11-07T07:42:00.000-05:00

In my bed of cardboard and bubble-wrap
I gave birth to a shrieking demon
who crawled like a nightmare
from the cobwebs of my crevasse.
I raised the demon on the blood
of good men taking wrong turns.
During frigid Bronx nights
we wrapped ourselves in the hides
of children, their applesauce smell
a sweet lullaby to our nostrils.
The police reports made front pages
when Spring snapped Winter's spine
and the trees turned green again.
My demon and I hitchhiked
to the tired bowels of Tennessee
where we stole a horse a day from death
from a slaughterhouse farm
and built a cabin next to a grey lake
that reeked of burning skulls.
Now we live off the corpses found floating
on the grey lake's surface;
a warm fire, thin meat strips roasting,
a crimson smile shared
only a human head's throw from Nashville.

"Parlay on the Ninth" by Kurtis Darby

2006-11-06T08:02:00.000-05:00

I smoked in the half booth
killed a gnat for giggles
My love was affright looking for me
I hid for shits
Walking past the Ninth
Church of Christian science
A Zaftig woman’s breasts cha-cha’d for me
I needed formula salvation
Christ empirical data
I blinked like dada
and choked on my prodigal emotion

"Dialogue of the Cool" by Angel Yau

2006-11-05T08:55:00.000-05:00

"Jesus Christ!"1
Wipe- Pop- Wipe- Pop- Tromp Tromp Tromp- Wipe –Pop- Wipe- Wipe- Wipe- Wipe- Pop 2
Wink. 3
Tears-Sniff-Tears-Tears-Sniff-Snff4
Deeee-dooo-deeee-dooo-deee-dooo-dee-doooo-deee-dooo-deee-dooooo 5
What the hell does that mean? 6
"Lipsticks are made out of fish scales" 7
"Boobies" 8
"Suck my balls" 9
"Slut bag"10
Fuck-o fuck-o fuck- o fuck-o fuck -o fuck-o fuck- o fuck-o fuck -o fuck-o fuck- o fuck-o fuck -o fuck-o fuck- o fuck-o fuck-o fuck-o fuck- o fuck-o fuck -o fuck-o fuck- o fuck-o fuck-o fuck-o fuck- o fuck-o fuck … 11
"Thank you" 12
Smile. 13

1 You're not religious. You look like you care saying it, as you read the newspaper, while you wait for work to begin. Okay, you're not reading anything. You really don't give a flying cat's ass about stupid civil rights issues or war. Eh, just saying it makes you look cool.
2 It's your turn to wipe the tables again. There must be forty- nine and a half tables out there and the chairs must go in this flower pattern. That's okay. You chew bubble gum and listen to William Shatner's new CD. Multitask. Whatever it is, multitasking will give you such presence.
3 You squirted some lemon-pine-sol-bleach-acid-table-wipe liquid in your eyes.
4 You quickly look not stupid by actually crying. Perhaps about family issues or war. Your choice.
5 You decide to sing. Just because you have perfect tone and pitch. You're bored anyway. No costumers. Co- workers don't talk to you (probably because they are scared of you because you reek of this high status.)
6 Your coworker decided to talk to you. He said "If only more people stay home and learn to write, we'd have 43% less crime in America today."
7 You respond by saying the only random fact you know to engage conversation.
8 No engaging conversation. So you say that to a customer.
9 Sheila Hensen responded.
10 You respond back.
11 Sheila's boyfriend was behind her. He takes one look at you. Your face is ruined. You are in pain. You fall on the floor. You're bloody. You are in pain.
12 Get it together. Be grateful. People like to think you appreciate things. Anything.
13 End on a positive note.

A Note From Barnabas: 666 Hits

2006-11-03T15:28:00.000-05:00

Dear readers and contributors,
Together we have created one of the strangest, most perverse new poetry sites on the web. It is still small, but we have just had our 666th visit today. The Horned Lord is proud, I assure you. Take care.
- Barnabas DuCoudray

"When He's Not Thinking With His Mind" by Lisa Shred

2006-11-03T07:17:00.000-05:00

Velvet pillows LSD Pisces scene in a dream a backwards 70s vision
purple wine tie dyed blinds Jimi Hendrix plays on the phone I'm home
alone with him he moans he is finished singing to himself he knows I'm
tripping through the ceiling now where there is a painted sky and cloud
The moon is upside down
While I'm brushing the cat hair off my lingerie, Donovan's electric
banana peels and the parquet floor reveals its carpet but unlike the
Shining, it's peaceful here. Magenta candles light the room and Lotus
incense consumes all gloom my mystery and soul evolve while he dries
himself off with a wet towel and splashes his face with water. The
sundial outside does a spin, my head is tingling from the child within
and he slips himself in - Daltrey screams in the background but shadows
are the only sound and I drain and dry the bathtub's spicy cubes as the
water sinks. It was a night of disappating fear so far, he touches my
cheek and holds my face so dear while we stare into each other's purple,
tripping eyes and stay that way for the longest time....I think he's
slid it in but I'm not sure, I keep slipping hoping for more while I'm
fading away over and over again into several forms of astral planes. My
stereo has just said goodbye my window pane is talking don't know why,
the cat is reading both our minds and I ask is this all a sin. I don't
know who I'm asking still not sure if he's slipped it in. Then suddenly
I see the long hallway, can't find the door try to run away and I'm
running and I'm running but I'm getting nowhere and the Shining is in my
underwear and the echoes of Erasure are in my hair well I think that I'm
running for the longest time down the longest hallway but then I
electrically see the face and body of him running toward me. I thought
he was on the toilet for 5 hours but he was instead thinking the same
thoughts as me and talking with no mouth on LSD. Our eyes greet very
knowingly and I run towards him and he runs toward me but we can't get
anywhere and the walls turn green. Then suddenly I am painting him with
fingerpaints, made a mess on the rug, he is feeling my fingers on his
spine and legs but the open window has shouted we are dead. The chimes
of the wind and the candles flicker and the space fills my brain and the
room gets bigger and I erase all the colored paints from him. He takes
the cans and starts splashing them on the wall while I walk away from
the fit of it all and enter my own dark secret room.
"Why do you need more?
Why do you need more?
Why do you need?
Why do you do?
Do you need?"
Alison Moyet laughs and a crucifix floats through a black hole and I
ask why I sing Why do I sing, why do I sing? Why do I sing, why do I sing?
Then I notice that that is not my mind it's someone else's going
insane. It is his in the room below. It's his time and it is his show
and it's my life and I like it that way and I don't want to hate my smell
today but the curtain opens once more and the window appears to
talk to the door while a cartoon spins witchy poo and the kitchen floor
sinks me into goo. I tried not to look at you! I spoke to a mirror but
who was who? I think it was creaking somewhere downstairs like the sound
of a rock in my chair. He was there and he did not care - one of us is
going to have gray hair. Get me out of this trip room, the purple
candles smoke too soon, the bathroom light hums with the moon. He was
painting on my breasts but I said it was my heart and he did not hear me
very well when I said I would fall apart. Then the dog ran into the
other room and I thought it was a pig. So I said "We're on a farm" and he
laughed, his face got really red and I laughed and laughed until I ached
and stared into his laughing face and he stopped painting my breasts
while I stated that my nipples are not getting hard, those are not my
breasts, it is my heart. Don't destroy my fantasy of you, dont be you,
just don't be you and his smile turned to very blue and he said I am not
me I am not you, I said you are a fantasy of you, he said I am not me, I
am you - I am me I am not you - I am the best me and you and I said no
you're not He said well why not I said I don't know I'm tripping and we
laughed like that again I was fitting four minutes into a four hour
quantum leap but the time ran and the Recoil clock shrieked and the
clock on the cat's face on the wall ticked so loudly when the CD had
finished he said "I don't have time left" I asked why and our sentences
met in our heads once again while I listened to the magic on the wall
-- colored paints talking through the wall - they were glistening
and listening their energy had it all. I said to him you're a know it
all. And he asked why and began to bawl I held his hair on my chest
again, I dont know why I mother this man, I guess I'm just a pillbox for
him, and then the sun shone morning had begun and the dog was asleep
when we woke up and we got our naked selves off the bathroom floor,
looked at each other, looked into the mirror and sang.

Coffee was ready.

"The Lovely Dreams Between Us" by Beartrap Hoffman

2006-11-02T13:24:00.000-05:00

I often sleep
next to you
d r e a m i n g
of
CRUSHING
your skull
with my bare hands
then licking them
clean.

When I awake
I kiss you
and say
I had a
w o n d e r f u l
dream, darling.

I did too,
you say.
What did you
d r e a m,
I ask?

I dreamt
I ate your face
while cockroaches
SCREAMED
all over
my body.

I smile.
I am in love.

"Gemini" by Duncan DuBois

2006-10-31T08:10:00.000-05:00

She said she was a gemini
She wasn’t very smart
I thought perhaps a lemon pie
Would win me back her heart.
She liked to taste my cookin’
She liked to watch me squirm
She wasn’t too good lookin’
But had a lovely perm.
I called her to the jamboree
I called her to the mill
We had a lovely reverie
She touched me for a thrill
She had some lovely stitching
Above her lovely brow
Such loveliness—bewitching!
She spoke, I don’t know how.
But when she opened up that mouth
That purple-blue crevasse
Her attention wandered south
Unto my supple ass
She said, “GRrrr, I waannnna…LICK!
It’ss faberlously RuNNY…
I wanna seeeee what makes her TICK
I think that might be fffffunnnny!”
I was a little shockered
I was a little weirded
I couldn’t git her knockered
Up’n’less my bummy bum appear’ded!
She git me inner woozy spell
She git me inner clutches
She ride me like a bat’n’hell
I din’t real mind it muches!
But then…my speeches start t’slip
N’then m’bottom’s jelly
N’then she sez, “You git yer lip
N’stick’m in m’belly!”
N’now m’tounge wuz hangin’ oot
N’now I wuz a fear’d’n
Sez, “I dunno what’sat aboot
I jes can’t git m’beard in!”
SHE swallahed ME
WHOLE like GULP
N’THEN I…
jes BLAAAAAACKED OOT N’ criiiiiiied!
N’THEN I…
SEZ I need sum HULP!
N’THEN I…
n’then I died.
***I choosed t’die***
*****For m’little Gemini*****

"Cubist Portrait of Ron Jeremy" by Sean Frasier

2006-10-30T08:06:00.000-05:00

F A T
Fat olde
Fat olde
C O C K
Olde cock
slapped
S L A P
on the
O L D E
cheek.
A S S
cheek?
No? No.
Ye olde
C O C K
S L A P
ringing
through
D A R K
places.
Mustache
G R I N.
D E M O N
grinning
like an
O L D E
mustache
trimmed
too tidy.
T I D Y
thrusts
D R I P
cock
and
mustache.
Fat fat
mustache.
Ye olde
Ye olde
C O C K.

"Halving a Baby" by Barnabas DuCoudray

2006-10-29T08:00:00.000-05:00

We yearn for the chefs of daydreams
to supply us the taste of sweet gravy,
yet here we sit in the teeth of winter
so happily halving a baby.

You,
eyes narrow
as spelunking tunnels
littered with the yellowed bones
of bow-legged explorers,
your turkey cutter
buzzzzzzing
like a wasp orgy
( trapped )
in a devil-sent vibrator.

Me,
mouth foaming
like a saffron sea
splashing a cold beach
of dead/dying seagulls,
my axe blade
shimmering
like rediscovered beauty
after a one hundred year war
where ugliness prevailed.

The baby,
bald and calm,
still, painted eyes,
no silly goo-goos
just a chilling silence
and the soft drip drip
of scarlet on the snow.

We yearn for the werewolves of daydreams
to stalk what we think and believe,
killing the savage desires we carry
and sorting our wants and our needs.

"Go Black Tonight" by Rachel Eagle Reiter

2006-10-27T09:32:00.000-04:00

At the Stroke of Midnight
Begins the Opening
Of the Realm of Mysteries

Why do you fear Black?

Black is In
Black is Back
Black is Mystery
Black is every Color
Black is the RAINBOW

Blended and Swirled

Black is the Absorbing Force
Sponging up all Negative Energy

Gloom
Hatred
& Envy

All must be Swallowed by Black

Black is the new white
Black is the new right
Black is the new light

Go Black Tonight
To Gain Insight

"Palindrome Guy from Utah" by J.D. Nelson

2006-10-25T07:28:00.000-04:00

Why haven't the new numbers
appeared on my math screen?

It's been three weeks since
I sent them out to be cleaned.

Is Seventeen Spearmint Blvd.
within crawling distance
of the poison control center?

I don't own a
$200/hr suit.

You can BBQ my corpse
at the summer picnic.

"blink..." by Justin Thompson

2006-10-24T07:52:00.000-04:00

invariably unseen
even if
born and compressed
in absence of light
grotesque
repressed
for the sake of all of you
pupils undilated
photons unreflected
you are my ruin
crooning nonsense
plagues upon my house
amelodic pretense,
assumptions that i won't
Burn
everything you thought
was ours
your hours
of shriveling
withering
severing
dwindling
expired
the aperture i desired
is closed
and now focused
i remain for you
out of focus

"Getting Off Mount Rushmore" by Mark Barkawitz

2006-10-23T08:21:00.000-04:00

i once got dumped
with my head
still between a woman's legs.

"there's someone else,"
she said.
my tongue stopped,

my eyes opened.
through the underbrush,
between two peaks,

i saw her face--
like her words--
chiseled in stone.

"Birthdeathplay" by Cloud Tzara

2006-10-22T08:07:00.000-04:00

everything and nothing all at once
too much to take in one deep breath
halcyon bliss and merciless sorrow
fill my lungs, cosume with feverish intensity
...anxious trepidation as i enter the dark auditorium

the lights dim, the curtain draws, the show begins:
eternal slumber
then
a soft noise from the void
awake
suddenly life the world and death
thrown naked stammering into the grand play, the cosmic dance
scriptless we improvise characters and narratives
quickly enacting new tragedies and comedies
all bearing strange resemblence to stories past
the director is dead but we act on
falling into roles that seem destined for us by divine audition
the faces are new but the forms remain the same
a hallucinatory postmodern film noir
backdropped against the stars on tepid summer nights
waiting to break free of the chain of the birthdeathplay
into uncharted heights of the unknown
nothing certain but the faint hint of a smoldering fire
a passion lost somewhere long ago
intermission: a sweet refrain, the death of ages
we create new mythologies to guide new histories and revelations of the self
monster
but the true name remains lost, buried with the words that tried to contain
its simple
transcendence
dying but never dead
always lying barely alive in wait
to resurface
grand and sudden
bursting through to new heights of rapturous calamity
apocalyptic truth washes over the world in an epic wave
as the curtain closes in a mad ranting crescendo of fire
peaking with the sweet release from illusionary reality

the actors all lie dead behind the velvet wall
awakened finally by a poem, a sunset, a song or a kiss

"Security Brick" by Lisa Shred

2006-10-21T08:32:00.000-04:00

Arouse your erection between your lean head and its scurvy curveballs
At least i'm in between your oven hot thighs now
Sizing me up like a roast (it rules the roost)
The mundane pain is seen then
And I make you my moist most
Wet towel, chilling an ill burger on you
I'd as soon as remain glib about it - idle
What you did did not sound fit
I'd shit a brick for your shitlist
Why the wife and the cooking
You've done so much looking
Already you could have thrown up enough energy balls at me
And laughed at each one of them while they
Spitfired into my mind-ridden face
And your head has become your brain
And your brain has become my enemy
And my enemy has become an internal fighting force of justice
Because I've wanted you to myself.
And my face has become an internal force
An internal fight
And an outside face of "I'm cool"

"Dismembered Dreams" by Michael Subrizi

2006-10-20T08:11:00.000-04:00

Unsure where the logic failed in pursuit of beauty
Attached to the wrong world perhaps
Congested maze of gore
Wish as you may to have not designed it
It is too late for a full prayer
The only way to escape
Is to bring some with you
And the suspicion that lies inside
Will keep you itching all night
Invisible bugs crawling in your nose.

"Huckleberry Pie" by Duncan DuBois

2006-10-18T08:34:00.000-04:00

There was I, getting the gimlet eye
From a scrumptious little morsel of
Huckleberry Pie

There was she, insouciantly,
Flaunting those petulant
Apple Eyes

Huckleberry Pie with the Apple Eye
That's when we grind and scrape
All of the Filling and all of the Fruit
With our little mouths agape, You and I

There were we, in a puddle of pee
And everything emptied from our
Body-eyes

There was I, the freebooter
These plundered guts were mine
While the Apples Eyes shine

"Old Style Eddie" by J. D. Nelson

2006-10-17T07:50:00.000-04:00

I found a box of old guns
down by the railroad tracks.

The ringing of souls
shook buzzard eggs
from barbed wire nests.

By this time, my antennae
were standing straight up.

My two penises wiggled
like epileptic breakdance worms.

"Trench Warfare Wetdreams" by Barnabas DuCoudray

2006-10-16T08:22:00.000-04:00

Milk the evil
from my crotch teet
and feed it
to the starving infantry
who cry at night
tongue-kissing the bullet-bitten corpses
of their fallen comrades
who rot like Brando
in the dark trenches
of my soul.

O, wild thoughts
plague me tonight,
Father!
I fear I could fill
each dry Texan lake
with the creamy evil
I summon with growling
tugs and yanks.

Lick your lips,
fiendish wild thoughts,
and swallow my darkness,
my evil that pumps forth
when my moon of desire is full,
and kiss this stickiness
from my trembling fingers
like a hungry god,
smiling.

"All About Doc" by Christopher Woods

2006-10-15T08:01:00.000-04:00

Sure, I’ll admit it. No problem. We weren’t so smart. Now, it’s different. But last night? I guess we didn’t know no better. Clint and me. That’s why we went ahead with it. THE PROJECT. Yeah, that’s what we called it. THE PROJECT.

Doc, he’d been our neighbor awhile. We counted on him for the wisdom business. And vodka, too, when we was out. Doc, he was real smart. But he’d been out of his line of work a long time. But that don’t mean he didn’t like to talk about it. He did.

I’d ask him, “Doc,” how do you crack one?” And Doc, he said it was like cracking some old dinosaur egg. Kinda hard, you see. He even showed us how to do it. He pulled out that black doctor bag, the one he hadn’t used in so long? He blew off the dust. He showed us his shiny tools. He’d been sidelined a few years for shaky hands and what all.

After he got everything spread out on the kitchen table, I asked him how he knew what was what. So he told me. He got out some big old book. Medical kind of book. Doc showed me a map of the brain. Like a roadmap, but all the roads was inside, if you follow me.

I was watchin’ Doc, looking at the pictures. That’s as close as he’d get to operatin’ again, least ‘til he got his hands settled down. But there wasn’t much chance of that happening, the way Clint and me saw it. No, Doc was down the tubes. Else why was he hangin’ out with a couple guys like us? You never saw Doc without a drink in his hand, and that’s the bottom line.
That roadmap book was the first thing I went lookin’ for last night in Doc’s kitchen. When things went wrong? And Clint actin’ like a yellow bastard, lettin’ me do all the work? Oh, he helped me crack Doc’s dinosaur egg, but that was only after I started hollerin’ at him

Once I had everything out on the table, I started lookin’ at it real hard. And you know something? Doc’s brains didn’t look anything like the pictures in the book. No roadmap, is what I mean. Messier, too.

I didn’t let that stop me. I’d look at Doc’s brains, then the pictures. I started seein’ things. Places I didn’t know about before. I came across the place where feelings hole up. And this and that, like where talk starts. I poked around. There wasn’t no labels or nothin’ like in the book. Hell, I couldn’t read ‘em even if there was. No, it was mostly like pushin’ jelly ‘round on a plate.

While I’m operatin’, Clint’s walkin’ ‘round the kitchen. Openin’ cabinets, then slammin’ them shut. He’s bitchin’ ‘cause he can’t find Doc’s gin bottle. He’s so drunk he can’t stand up straight. I said, Clint, you dumb fuck, how do you think we got Doc to pass out in the first place? We got Doc to drink the whole bottle. Good thing, too. Who can have their head split open without some of that...oh, what do you call it? Uh, oh yeah, annis asia. That’s what it’s called.

I’m workin’ hard, see? And Clint, he’s breakin’ out the bourbon. Sour mash. I say, give me some of that stuff. Settle my stomach with all that blood everywhere. Doc’s brain was pretty good for browsing. I was enjoyin’ myself. Pretty soon, though, it stopped bein’ fun. Things started dryin’ out on the table. Real dry. I knew my time was runnin’ out. I tried to put it all back like I’d found it. Like in the book?"

But I looked at all that flattened out jelly, and I didn’t know the first thing ‘bout puttin’ it back together. Oh, I tried to line it all up nice and proper. Clint was watchin’. I knew he was thinkin’ the same thing.

Clint said he didn’t recall me askin’ Doc about this part. That’s what I know, I said. That’s what I know. Damned if it wasn’t so! Hell knows it was too late to ask Doc.

So maybe I messed up big time. Wouldn’t you say so? Yeah. How else can you explain how somethin’ like this happens? Soon as I sober up, I’m gonna study Doc’s book real hard. Next time, I’ll be ready.

"Below The Low Ceiling" by Michael Subrizi

2006-10-13T08:03:00.000-04:00

A harvest of twilight
From which this planet was picked
By the blindfolded
Trailing the noisy pleasures of soil
Oceans are ingested in gulps
Clouds swallowed to be coughed out
Trees tickle the throat
Laughter at the feast of the living
Where some will always starve
And others devour the earth

"Soul Sucker" by Catherine Preston

2006-10-11T07:46:00.000-04:00

Madness creeps when your heart does nothing but weep
Sweep, sweep... sweep the memories under the rug
It's your heartstrings the ghosts constantly tug
Shrug, shrug... shrug off the magician's cloak of love
Shove away all hope that grips at your heart like a glove

Sleep evades your dreams when they always lead to screams
Dream, dream... dream of your soul leaching fiend
Kiss the razor sharp lips and then watch your heart bleed
Knead, knead... knead the pain until it barely shows
Throw away your distorted face and let the mask grow

Honey, I Jus' Jokin' by Sean Frasier

2006-10-10T08:06:00.000-04:00

When I said that bad thing,
the thing about murder
and how it makes me all...
all... attentive down there,
like a pink soldier ready
to kill for his country,
you know honey,
love o' my life,
I jus' jokin' about that shit.
But there is something
about the smell of blood,
the sweet this and that
of death...
I jus' jokin' again.
That shit is scary,
don't interest me one bit.

"One" by Anthony Liccione

2006-10-09T07:43:00.000-04:00

They wrapped the man
under a crew of hastening
spotlights, cameras and blankets,
the blizzard of white snow blinding
the lens with fog and frost-
as newscasters were eager
to ask questions,
of what was it like...
or is your son still alive...
the man, yet frozen from shock
and severe hypothermia,
body clothes of his
son’s shirt shroud around
his head as a hat
and pieces of airplane metal
to stable his broken leg
and collapsed lung.

He was presumed the only
survivor of the small twin-
engine plane that crashed off
into the side of a mountain
southwest of Massachusetts.
Behind breaking news of the
father and son who went missing
for sixty-three days,
a charcoal plane in the background
split in two, now cooled off
with blackened ice after an
explosive fire on impact.
As EMT’s and rescue workers
rushed with heat packs and
flashlights.

In a remote hole under the plane
they found his son
as cool storage tucked away,
parts of his body detached-
his fingers and organs
clasped in the corner cabin
next to made-cups of melted
snow, urine and blood.
Where a Cross was half
frostbitten on the wall.

Some thought him a monster,
how could he have done
the mortal, in eating his son,
while others say they would
have done the same
given the circumstance,
in that his son saved his life.

At the investigation
he testified that his son told him
it was ok should he not make it
through and his father hungered.
When his son didn’t make it
that week, he did
just as they had planned.
But outside people banned
the idea,
labeling him a cannibal,
a killer, and cruel crime.

Inside he could see his son
smiling,
photos of childhood years-
dinnertime in his highchair
when he brought a spoonful
of food as an airplane to his mouth,
propellers being generated by lips.

The court sentenced him
to serve a life for cannibalism,
soon after his health returns-
and when asked what would
he like at the hospital to eat,
he said a steak, a juicy medium-
rare sirloin steak with mashed
potatoes with some of that fancy
A-1 sauce.

"round" by Christopher Mulrooney

2006-10-08T10:32:00.000-04:00

the belle of the ball
sat down to think a few things
and humming dreamed
oh dum-dee-dumb
and suck my thumb
miraculously athwart my idea of amidships

the midshipman with the epaulettes
geared up along the quarterdeck
to greet the salt spray
let a hornpipe pass amongst his legs
for a flicker of an instant's
coming and going
and smartly saluted the captain at the sounding of the bells

"A Wish to Die For" by Ranferi Salguero

2006-10-07T16:08:00.001-04:00

Run into the concrete jungle and

cry at the rhythm of the falling rain.

Smile like the hemisphere to the sun.

Wish, a wish to die for.

Feel the iron wheels of a never stopping train,

fall into the hands of an amazing creature.

Weep as the skin tastes the ground.

Taste it you dreamer, enjoy it you outlaw and become one with it,

become water when the river meets the concrete ocean.

You were a grain of sand in the vastness of the desert,

playing with the wind, shivering at the gates of the sunset sky,

rising at the command of the morning star.

Hear now the story told by an old man,

of a mother and a crying son;

of a scorpion, a serpent and a burning sun,

of a journey to the depths of the heart and

a race to the vortex of the mind.

Run and cross the fence!

Run and jump the barrier!

Run and overcome the fear!

Run and dream of a better life.

Let the skin taste the dirt,

let the train have wings and fly,

play with the wind oh! you grain of sand,

wish a wish worth dying for.

lullaby to me (THE LONGEST SENTENCE I EVER NEEDED TO WRITE) by Anthony Venditto

2006-10-06T08:36:00.000-04:00

I dream of an opportunity to sleep 14 hours straight in my bed surrounded by sunflower petals for sheets, whilst small, furry woodland creatures and per chance a ferret or two nuzzle me, toes kicking back to a flamboyantly dressed Judy Garland clone singing lullabies of falling babies into mine very ears all the while having crickets and sleazy all nude, female jazz musicians with taut, supple bodies performing a mellow, swinging jam right there in my closet beneath my shirts, and spent under things and various skeletons at the same time having sombalistic kittens coupled with strung out cherubs scurrying daintily amongst some beatnik chick’s be-bop thighs ferrying treats for all and mealing on steaming bowls of ganja smelling porridge prepared specifically for the relaxing effect of its odoriferous bouquet of molasses and Humboldt County gold- which really is enough of a dreamy, decedent delight to bring a whole gaggle of hedonists to their fun loving knees and make them offer to buy the world a coke and a smile let alone insure a peaceful repast for yours truly – yeah, that would be sweet.

By Lloyd Wise

2006-10-04T07:54:00.000-04:00

I spent the summer of my twelfth year perched on the diving board of the swimming pool in my parents' backyard staring into the water, fantasizing endlessly that I would be swallowed by the drain. A few years later I saw Jaws for the first time and received an erection. As adolescence ended and adulthood began I found it difficult to form intimate relationships with others. My psychiatrist suspects that I am a Vorarephile.

Church Social Evisceration

2006-10-03T08:40:00.000-04:00

Peel back the madness
like snake-thin sun-burnt skin
and watch the monsters dance.

Demon horn bugles
sound the roar of repression
as dirty magazines weep
from their prisons
between mattress and box-spring.

Soldiers rip their own guts out
in darkened hospital tents,
their minds sick
with shrapnel nightmares.

In the church bathroom
during the coffee social
right after the eleven a.m. mass,
Desire stands in a closed stall,
belt unbuckled,
his arms tiring.

Celebrate Our Sluggish Demise, Gentle Vermin!

2006-10-02T11:05:00.000-04:00

Toss our ashes

like confetti

into the soft winds

of approaching storms,

ignore the sniff-sniff smell

of musket smoke

and burning asbestos,

step right on over

that dead creature

on the sun-licked sidewalk,

and throw your hands in the ay-er

like you just don't cay-er

while singing,

"We're still alive!

We're still alive!

We may not see

the Spring arrive,

but (clap! clap!)

we're still alive!"