#5

Steven Ruel
perfidy

greyerie mon(th)ochrome
yet deviously unchromatic,
arrowmatic soggenly
blovercast
stove-eeating
kennethjoying firm’s menagement
fiscallion rap-fist
ear(ie) Leo-lobe
caffeinated arm-charge
armoire is perpetual

Geminightly grant(ham)-crackers
fjord/fiordo freepersill gangst-ridden
gunk-chuff pegs-haste
pedant(e) voided checks
son-voy
voyage to phon
(b)oy-vey

saw’yer soyer
(s)ex-am-in(e) what you Be-leave in
because leaving is for going out
and coming is for go(I)ng in
so shuttard up and think!

speakeasy teste-Z
gamete: medium, well…
or well…done…junk DNA
CNA sunk
a whale’s tail (dis)may as well be a doubleheaded (b)eagle
finally kill off the pothead’s funk
and foul laugh the world

easel-trunked
an artist scarves up
no logo in the sights of the rosy cross
2nd degree sideburns above his named scruffert
loomed apropos(t)-side seatcrest ton-buckled
word-wrappers to you
but word-things to those who abuse appropriately
linguistic crack-pipesup
renewable dining
dusk’n tubax shi(l)verware
trebles eat and com(e)pose complicit
aghast bedtimes that aren’t theirs
ban(in)d(i)ana
(th)war(t) on terra(s)
in all holographic carbon paper placements
;
yes there are psychopaths
wright and rung
in all nickel and dime-ensions
in need of rehab comprehension
and not too turgid(dy)
;
they’ll only pop a cherry
if it’s pyramidal
and can jump the dark-queen
whose shell-world we give hospitality

our lives are spent and whittled
in styrofoam cups
tidbit staph-infect corrections;
personnelity has none

tint squinternational sunglasses
liquidity-fires the unlikes of which we think we’ve seen
soaking and queening the sun of LIFE: the mainframe whereabouts holder
BMX-wife swearabouts her firewire’s diseased
and seeded,
albeit by a (f)airport USB shuttle-bus;
bust or life, thongruster, pool: a washing machine;
reality is life’s boner-tip

24-hour voyeuristic window-shopping
voyaging fast-foodesque voidage;
those types will always say no to the vibra(te)phone
and yes to the tell-a-phone talk-to-yourself do-it-yourself
hailing a taxicab: the new york transference of nazi salute

have you ever seen photographings
of kid-plot-points hailing heil,
elbow powered to it’s concentrate overhead,
to the UNITED STATES w(h)ar(f) flag-coordinate…
wharf if you’ve made the transference to military seaplace law,
gassy Blahfayette trips
made out to try thermal sleep-waking bags,
photons sexing up the darkness;
fisherman-coat peep-flashing the para-trickster,
if you will,
when york happened upon it’s new yorker ,
iced-age digestion-esque ferrystalsis
to rector st., rectum, flurryda
bummer-fixing toilet clauses and effects,
not to speak of affects and (gr)osstentations

prescription eye-defenders
conscript for keepsies and queer stares with the (g)eyeballs;
victory losErth Terra-fied
the plan-it’s in a bad(mint-on) way
s-corporation serpent coursing
the last name and the first name exhibit elements of interdependent selves,
dusty mind-control shelves

all the art that man strives for,
he will find inside a woman;
orgas(p)m

(L.A.)tribu( )tion dismissionist;
through humor we re(-)inform our masks

I am the high priest-S
of cleaning vacuums
and electro-noshes ;
(st)as(h) above
so what(?) below

sorry it’s not really my cup(board) of tea

meer-stones of mirrors & meer-ors,
are human reflections
of elections,
affirmative and denigratory selections,
wires know all, a proverb of the preter-transherbal
pianowing 10 finger snaps
though not skinning the peel off of 11, the twin-towner reflection
of it’s Narc(issus)y self,
getting it through your pro(fessional)gramming
and prog. ramming
drug-weighing drudgery of mind
forgetting your prurient-privy PGA-G.P.A.

dogs viewee in blackish &ish whitish
bark-codes in barcode;
us: slave-maids of their tagging molenabbingoratory
mope we may,
the do(d)g(e) D.E. (death event-X-tent)
Decemberst,
thirst for 4th quarter,
almost time to file your sax returns
with the IRS(hudderfuge)

an alleged decal(vin) ledger
of fleshy technology
et-al
j’earn-all-keeping amazed at
theories of ringed mazes
realit(E)-merging

Icelandic churching my desktop system preferences
Icons running vertical pew(k)ing
along a hard-drive long-face door

civil-flag-ilians waved and faved by the flags of Psyche’s annotations
and a cup fell
grounded by my feet but unpunished; ear of my tooniverse
h’earing my commercials
noting that I just learned that tea was once a drugphemism;
washroom coon-compass(ion) pass (Y)away
semi-colon(oscopy) flagged my buttocksupied by no(te) nation
grimmick fucked in the grass
pasture prime
montgomery warding body-swarmth cherry composure
personal ad carrier-hole swabs
I ? NY whoring (sn)out NY
waffle coning till rights & wrongs wisholve
and poems speak through postage stamp speakers
(the technology’s common like showered sweatpants)

Manhattan high-rise tree timber-line fishing
wall street (w)al(l)pine schowder
time to consult (l)over-the-counter coffee cream
my lover-not’s never-had-a lot syrup

snapped photos of me spitting spittle yo-yo strings
into the geo-likeness of crépellated vanity mirrors

crosstown bus the city’s cleav(er)age
commuters feeling up but not knowing it
kind of like at night with
their host & seem wives and fussbands
spooftop roofs
American middle class parody paperwork
bureaucureats wearing no curewithal paperpilework masks for Halloween

 

 

Anthony Liccione
I Sold My Heart for a Dollar

For a dollar I sold my heart,
to some prostitute,
low in the gutters–
then stole me another one…
out of a red, 99 chevy lumina.
There it was sitting at a
gas station, a somewhat used
heart, with all its parts still intact–
I plucked off the serial number
and then stuffed it in my underwear,
this big brand new heart,

of which I’m sure every heart
transplant patient would die for.
And I got it for free walking home
sulking over something, on the
front seat of this blood-red car
on sale for $3300.
trying to sell a car for that much
I thought was rather high– an old
car with no balls, no Alpine stereo.
just some cheap factory spin-off.

It was dark setting, and the
business was closed, but I knew I
had to have it, and like any crime
I do I’m always afraid of getting
caught, I was lacking the adrenaline,
and heartbeat to prove it.
So I took a rock, almost the size
of the heart on the seat, and smashed
it through the windshield. glass
flew everywhere. on the dashboard,
floor, and seats with the rock resting
itself hard against the plus pulse.

Even my new heart, was hit with
shards of glass. but I’ve already planned
to give it special care, I would pluck
out each piece with tweezers,
wash, wax and buff it out when needed.
Umbrella it from the rain and shade it
from the sun. almost as a new car.

It was strange when I later found
my old heart, limp in a box at the
General Dollar store. it was on a shelf
with a few other used hearts, trying
to sell it for $5.00-
who would buy a heart
with no balls, no song or sound.
an old, used heart juiced on duracell.
sometimes I think the batteries
will run dry before someone buys
my heart for a five.
Just then came by two young boys
out for fun,
they plucked out my heart of its
cardboard box,
and started playing hacky sack–
round and round it went
twirling in the air
being kicked from foot to foot
back heel to side-sweep
that was the most
joyous time my heart ever
experienced,
being kicked around for fun,
before going back into
its box.

 

 

David McLean
the chronic psychiatrisation of mankind

these dangerous diseases lock you up
themselves, doctors who invented
their own egos from selectively
rapt attentions raping meaning
to sleep again, as were their self
the syphilitic bliss of a Christian’s
crippled oblivion, the smallish strap-on
they borrowed from God, these priests
in their own temples, eating children
their anaclytic intention, the depressing
missing clit as the tiniest homologue
of this, inserted prick inverted
reason, their dreams an objectionable
oblate raped and the crime a cartoon
sprayed over the face of night,
the splayed legs of chicken-shit Christ –
and if these fucks drag dialectics
into their gibberish, they shall be
as sublated as any God, any you,
any me, the abyss night we tell
fell dreams in, is obscene as reason
remains a
dream, their dreams are far too
clean

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