“Bank robbery”
I hear
About a bank robbery
That was botched
When a fat chick
Stands up and tells
The strung out junkie
With a shotgun
That “Jesus says
Everything is
okay and
he has not to
worry any more.”
He shoots her in the
Face and
Most of her memories
Spill with
Most of the blood
Left in her head.
Every key i hit now
Sounds like the
Bang of that
Gun shot.
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Added by Benjamin Smith on November 18, 2009 at 11:14pm —
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“Bank robbery”
I hear
About a bank robbery
That was botched
When a fat chick
Stands up and tells
The strung out junkie
With a shotgun
That “Jesus says
Everything is
okay and
he has not to
worry any more.”
He shoots her in the
Face and
Most of her memories
Spill with
Most of the blood
Left in her head.
Every key i hit now
Sounds like the
Bang of that
Gun shot.
Continue
Added by Benjamin Smith on November 18, 2009 at 11:14pm —
1 Comment
I am enormously pleased that my written work - “Automata Exhibition” - is included in the current issue of Paraphilia Magazine. Originally written about a year ago, around a sequence of paintings by the incredibly talented Siolo Thompson, I am fantastically pleased that three of Siolo’s paintings accompany my wor…
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Added by pablo vision on October 30, 2009 at 7:36am —
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In the morning
My keyboard sits
In a pool of liquid
Next to a couple
Of empty beer bottles
And a dvd about janis Joplin.
I pull it out
And drain it onto
A towel
That i have
layed on the floor.
It wont work anymore
And i leave a
Message on my blog
That the site is closed
Till i can get a new one.
Im a tosser like that.
I ring my woman
And tell her
i must have spilt some beer
before i passed out
and now the computer
is all fucked up.
She asks me
If it smells like piss
Because the other night…
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Added by Benjamin Smith on October 11, 2009 at 10:30pm —
1 Comment
For three days I’ve been without meds.
On the fourth I’m e-e-e-vil with pain.
Beta seeking, opening mouth,
I in/cant O-O-O-Os to free muscles.
My day’s devoted to scoring pills.
On the way to the clinic, zoned
on radio in a slow zone,
I keep thinking about these meds
I’m hooked on. Withdrawal from pills
that keep me feeling no pain
seems bearable now, the muscles
that connect neck and tight-clamped mouth
looser. I open my mouth,
seeking again the touchy zone--
habitually locked muscles
the ser…
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Added by Billie Maciunas on October 5, 2009 at 11:59pm —
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I wrote this poem for Jennifer
but she didn’t live long enough to read it.
She killed herself one night
because she was tired of the shower curtain rod
falling to the ground
and revealing her nakedness
to the men
who never paid their
share for beer
or abortions.
She died
while on the rag
and was found laying on a bed of receipts
and a newspaper cutout of the local rodeo was stuck to the bottom of her knee.
Her phone had not rang in over two weeks.
If only the skinny ones
had the soul and laugh…
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Added by Dante Ocariz on September 23, 2009 at 10:02pm —
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I can still remember what we lost
the night we gave each other head
behind the muffler shop
I told you,
you had a smile like fools gold
and I could have plenty fun with it
but it would never be worth much.
You left my cock wet and greasy
And you called me unfair
after you wiped off your mouth.
“how can I fall in love with such a pig”, you said
screaming as you ran off to chase the distant dawn
in a field of dirt.
And I was left
with a panic attack
huddled under a shot out lamppost.
I never s…
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Added by Dante Ocariz on September 23, 2009 at 9:30pm —
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Please, my dear Ipsitilla,
my darling, my clever girl
Bid me come to you for the purpose
of taking a noonday nap.
And if you do, it would be helpful if
no one bolts the front door,
nor please yourself to go out,
but remain at home and yield to me
nine fuckations in a row.
Indeed, if you're going to do anything,
may thou bid immediately.
For I'm erect and potent
and thrusting through my tunic and bed covers.
Tr. Billie Maciunas, 1984
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Added by Billie Maciunas on September 18, 2009 at 7:56pm —
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Let us live, my Lesbia, and love,
and all the grumblings of critical old men
value as a single penny.
The sun can set and rise each day.
When our brief light goes out once and for all,
the night is a perpetual sleep.
Give me a thousand kisses, then a hundred
then another thousand, then a further hundred,
then even another thousand, then one hundred.
Then, when we have made many thousands,
we will thus confuse, so not to know,
or so no evil person can cast spells,
knowing how many kisses there…
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Added by Billie Maciunas on September 18, 2009 at 7:55pm —
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He seems to me a god.
He, if it is permitted to surpass the gods,
who, sitting opposite you, again and again
sees and hears you
laughing sweetly, so that all
my wretched sense is snatched from me:
for as soon as I have looked
upon you, Lesbia, nothing is left to me.
But my tongue is torpid, through my
limbs a subtle flame flows.
My ears ring with their own sound,
twin lights covered by darkness.
Peace, Catullus, does not agree with you.
you are too happy and too carried away by peace.
Peace ha…
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Added by Billie Maciunas on September 18, 2009 at 7:54pm —
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What slender boy woos you among the roses,
woos you bedewed with scent,
woos you in the grotto, Pyrrha?
For whom do you bind up your golden hair
in simple elegance? Alas, how often he will
weep for changing gods and changing faithfulness.
How often he will, being new, stare at
the sea, black from the wind.
He who delights in you, thinking you all god.
He who is fancy free, who always
hopes for one worthy of his love,
not knowing about shifting winds.
Miserable, those to whom you appear dazzling,…
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Added by Billie Maciunas on September 18, 2009 at 7:30pm —
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Earth with no fire, dark and blind--
Listen to animals call
each other. Listen for all akin
to answer. A lost man would
howl an invitation.
See what I am without my
kind. Eat this howl, this nothing.
Your fang is succor, your claw
a crucial touch, your eye in
the dark, a friend.
Billie Maciunas
3/29/09
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Added by Billie Maciunas on September 16, 2009 at 5:25pm —
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Think for yourself
then wonder what people might think
and decide you don't care.
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Added by Lena Vanelslander on August 23, 2009 at 7:26am —
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i was fingerprinted,
photographed, strip-searched
then placed in a tiny holding cell
with a metal bench, toilet and sink.
there was already another
inmate asleep on the bench.
what hindered my rest
was no bed, the cold night
the fluorescent lighting,
and the body odor
of my cellmate.
i removed my shirt
to cover my eyes and nose
and laid bare-backed
on the cold, dirty
concrete floor.
by the time morning arrived
and i was brought before
the Justice of the Peace
my reformation was complet…
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Added by Wolfgang Carstens on July 20, 2009 at 2:30am —
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two eldery men
on a cemetary bench meet
to drink whiskey
from a brown paper bag
they lift the bottle
in remembrace of those
whose bones are long buried
in the ground
they lift the bottle
in remembrace of those
spending their first night
in their graves
they lift the bottle
in remembrace of those
lying broken in hospice beds
inching towards oblivion
they lift the bottle
without complaint tonight
because their hearts beat
and there is still whiskey -
and that's enough
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Added by Wolfgang Carstens on July 19, 2009 at 5:30pm —
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the inheritance
when my grandfather passed away
i started doing small jobs
for Annie like mowing her lawn,
trimming her hedges, painting
fences and cleaning eavestroughs.
what started as acts of kindness
were soon weighted in dollars
and cents - because after every job
she'd slip me a twenty-dollar bill.
i came to expect payment. whenever
the job was complete i'd stare
at her hands to see if she was
holding money.
when i learned that Annie was sick
and had just had a heart attack
my fi…
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Added by Wolfgang Carstens on July 17, 2009 at 1:00pm —
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the universe weeps
my heart tonight
is a storm cloud
whose grief
defies gravity
there's much to mourn
but tears won't come
rain pours tonight
hard as though some god
with his cosmic sword
has opened the underbelly
of the sky and released
an ocean of sadness
the universe weeps
for us tonight
it's just enough
gospel of Jason
at any given moment
a machete-wielding maniac
is moving through
some forest
towards some destination
in search of somebody
to rescue from miserable
existence
so…
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Added by Wolfgang Carstens on July 13, 2009 at 2:00pm —
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I'm not really greeting you from hell. I know I'm not in hell because Michael Jackson and Farrah Fawcett are nowhere in sight. But this place often feels like hell. Too many tractors and sheep, not nearly enough used bookstores (there is one and it sucks) and bars (no bars, actually...this is a dry county). Still no internet at home. And I have so many exciting new photographs I'd love to share.
Crap you probably don't care about:
Nova's Gone Potty is complete. Completely radically revised, rea…
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Added by Misti Rainwater-Lites on July 8, 2009 at 8:30am —
1 Comment
my heart weeps
tonight for all
whose growling guts
keep them awake.
my heart weeps
tonight for all
who are enslaved
by their addictions.
my heart weeps
tonight inlets of wine
flowing for all hearts
that are broken.
infinite sadness
is my heart tonight -
a lost boat upon
a red ocean of tears.
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Added by Wolfgang Carstens on July 5, 2009 at 2:00pm —
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The stomach is the reason man does not so easily consider himself a god.
- Friedrich Nietzsche
my van has been operating
with the needle stuck
on empty for months
i put my last $5.40
into the tank - not nearly
enough to stop the low
fuel warning
you never get used to
the constant ringing
of alarm bells
a harsh reminder
that whatever we are,
be it man or machine,
our tanks will soon be empty -
our stationary selves
somewhere stranded
alone
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Added by Wolfgang Carstens on July 5, 2009 at 2:00pm —
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“Bank robbery”
Paraphilia Magazine V
Sestina to Cymbalta
Oxnard
Shorty short
the reformation
Hello From Hell
