Archive for July, 2011

sometimes dreams are the lady in red by Scot Young

Posted in Uncategorized on July 23, 2011 by Scot

sometimes dreams wake you up
mixing reality with the whatever

*stuck in this apartment parking lot
nothing familiar
not finding the exit
you came over the crest
of the drive
wrapped in the coat i bought

you when we were sixteen

you said nothing/smiled/
ran up and hugged me
hung on w/o
words until i woke up*

i tried to go back to sleep
return to the moment but
sometimes dreams are the lady
in the red dress leaning
against the bar

talking talking talking
with a viginia slim hanging
bouncing from her mouth
eyes half closed
tattoo on the back
of her neck you can no longer
read
and and and
sometimes even in dreams
the lady in red gets lucky

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irretrievable things by db cox

Posted in DB Cox with tags on July 7, 2011 by Scot


— for Caylee Marie Anthony

unknowable
dark places
behind
counterfeit eyes

the black hole
of a twisted mind

ticking time—
truth gets lost
in a prime time
legal extravaganza

a young mother walks

tonight—
the sun sets
behind a florida
stillwater swamp

a rotting yellow ribbon
of police tape
flutters
in a cypress tree

a sleepless whip-poor-will
sings his favorite lullaby

a tiny ghost
sleeps in the rain
& dreams
of irretrievable things

Three Poems by BRADLEY MASON HAMLIN

Posted in Bradley Mason Hamlin on July 3, 2011 by Scot

Alien Mind Control No. 1

As
the aliens
planned
our complete and utter
painful
annihilation
I drank Rebel Yell
and wondered what I could do
for my fellow humans
as I could sometimes hear
the invaders,
see them outside in my backyard
at night
or watch them
watching me through the dark windows
and they read my mind
even now
influencing these words
and telling me
to tell you
to
relax
there is no alien invasion
it
already happened
long ago
and the alien
is you.

____________
Bad Buddha

Come on fat man,
you’re not even the real Buddha,
so let’s
create a little chaos today

Let us wrestle on mountain top
forget all those holy birds
rushing in always,
singing angelic choirs

Pistol whip the spring and love
and the lie of religion;
every scream we scream a dream
of the unattainable angel’s wing

All I ever wanted was an igloo
and a good blonde to keep me warm,
but why do bad voices whisper
so close to ear?

Why do genies in bottles speak
more clearly
than those voices on radio and TV?

I’d rather wear boxer shorts
with tiny red devil demons
& pitchforks
than a flock of halos,
rather fuck than work,
rather drink than think,
rather think than sleep,
rather not rhyme but sometimes
it comes out that awkward way …

Come on, fat man,
come on,
let us swallow the moon.

____________

BLOOD SCRIPT No. 1

Reaching
to
the
white
sky

where
nothing
is
born

I
see
a
lone
dog
growling

his
chain
stretched
against
neck

straining
toward
you

muscle
and
bone
cracking.

Three Poems by Cynthia Ruth Lewis

Posted in Cynthia Ruth Lewis with tags on July 3, 2011 by Scot

NICE GUYS MAKE LOUSY LOVERS

They’re too tender
and sweet
and gentle.
They handle you like they’re afraid
you’re going to break
and the sex is over before it even begins

it’s like they’re making love to a corpse
and I might as well be
for the way they’re fucking me

Put a little effort into it:
slap me
bite me
skin me with a knife
let me know I’m fucking alive
instead of boring me to death
with your slow and fragile ways…

and afterwards
they always considerately ask
“Was it good?”
but there are some questions that just don’t
deserve an answer

____________

GENERIC VENOM

I’m not what I appear to be–
I’m damaged goods

there’s no cotton at the top of this medicine bottle.
Somebody popped my lid and fucked with the contents
a long time ago
only I didn’t go down very well–
we didn’t gel
so they slapped a new label on me
and stuck me back on the shelf

they should have known
not to swallow me dry;
I’m not the type that goes down smooth

I tend to stick in one’s throat

It’s been awhile since someone rattled my vial
but I haven’t lost my potency yet.
I’ve only gotten stronger
and built up my resistance
since I’ve been back on the market–
these bright lights and shelf life
can’t hurt me any,
so if you’ve got the urge
and a strong constitution,
place me on your tongue
wash me down with a full glass of water
and I’ll slide down nice and easy;
hit the spot
heal the wound
cure
whatever ails you

____________

HARD TO GRAB

I don’t know what you want–

I screamed
I whispered
I lied
I cried
I confessed
I bitched
I raged
I smiled and praised
I pledged my soul
I spread my legs
I bled
I said I was a virgin
I told you I could take you
around the world and back
and still I could not please you….

I’m sorry, but perfection’s
an unattainable
bitch