The Conductor By Jonathan Butcher

Each page of that good book
is kept pristine, misquoted only
at the most opportune times.
He keeps each shirt starched,
in perfect rows like polished armour.

And when questioned, he only ever
acknowledges their backs, as he dresses
up division with second hand logic.
his words falling like torn confetti,
that scrapes the ground like his witherd
reputation.

His voice drenches out others in sewage
filled waves, his false respect for opponents
slowly resurfaces. Given a yard he could
vomit a mile, given an enema, he could reside
in a match box.


About Jonathan Butcher: 

Jonathan Butcher is a poet based in Sheffield, England. He has had work
appear in various print and online publications including: Popshot, Sick-Lit,
The Transnational, The Morning Star, Plastic Futures, Picaroon Poetry, Amaryllis
and others. His second chapbook 'Broken Slates' has been published by 
Flutter Press

Inside The Crack House With Todd Cirillo

Question 1:
How would you describe your time as a Calvin Klein Model?

Answer:
It was fantastic, I always got to cut to the front of the line but could never eat the appetizers.

Question 2:
Would you have sex with yourself in the mirror and can I watch?

Answer:
I require a funhouse mirror. Makes my hands look bigger. It will cost you 5 tickets and you would have to meet the height requirement.

Question 3:
As a trucker have you ever rubbed your body naked on your rig a few times?

Answer:
Have you never seen Smokey and the Bandit fuckface? It's a classic. Any true trucker knows all you need is weed, whites and wine...Little Feat told us that. Trucker motto: gas, grass or ass...no one rubs for free.

Question 4:
What are your thoughts on Peanuts in the Indonesian economy?

Answer: 
What does Charlie Brown have to do with Indonesia? The poor dude can never catch a break..whomp whomp.

Question 5:
Is it wrong to bring a Mariachi band to a funeral?

Answer:
Not if there's fireworks and a two for one deal on the donkey show.

Question 6:
Are you more into Dona Summer or ABBA man? If so what is your favorite ABBA Jam to make sweet love to in the backwoods of New York city?

Answer:
I'm more of a Chaka Khan fan.

Question 7:
What secret to your beautiful hands? Do you put lotion on the skin ?

Answer: 
My hands have provided me with a true gift of the gods. The Lords of Karma smiled upon my well crafted and versatile hands. I have been told by those in the know that they are both exceptionally gorgeous yet functional. Sometimes it is a curse because when I reach for the check or to pull a string on a ceiling fan the room stops and loses its collective breath. I just want the world to know that I didn't ask for this but am grateful I don't have the wretched corn husks of commoners. The secret is, if you can't have jazz hands, then have humble hands.

Question 8:
If squirrel had 4 nuts and another squirrel stole 2 nuts and a snake stole 1 nut how many nuts would that squirrel have left? Would it be different if he is married?

Answer: 
I don't do math.

Question 9:
John Patrick Robbins would like to know who is the most sexy Muppet? And if you get a blowjob from miss Piggy is it technically a hand job?

Answer:
Janis from Dr. Teeth and the Electric Mayhem. As to your second attempt at a question...technically it would be a ham job.

Question 10:
Why are you so distant from me after that divorce I had in my dreams? Am I just not pretty for you anymore asshole?

Answer:
You were never what they describe as "pretty", I have heard you described as breadlike, rotting pumpkin face, forgetful, rashy, the embodiment of disappointment, shifty and kind eyes.

Question 11:
Sir John would also like to know if you were a roller derby girl what would your name be?

Answer: 
Funny you should ask, I was actually spotlight dance champion of Skateland, Pasadena, 1978. It is rare to find such a flawless yet bulldozer on wheels. My roller derby names are Daisy Dukes-up, T-wrecks.

Question 12:
Is it true that you are actually a werewolf that is trying to steal my job?

Answer:
I actually wrote this poem about my werewolf inclinations recently:
http://thedopefienddaily.blogspot.com/2018/09/werewolves-of-new-orleans-by-todd.html

Question 13:
Boxers or lamb skin loincloths? Can you send me any (unwashed preferably)?

Answer:
Boxers...they compliment my extraordinary hands.

Question 14:
What is the secret to cheating at a dick measuring contest?

Answer:
The secret to cheating at a dick measuring contest is to make sure the other contestants are eunuchs.

Question 15:
Would you want to go to the  drive in movies with me Saturday I have extra room in the trunk?

Answer:
I only act out movies...never watch them from a trunk.

Bonus Question: 
Can you explain in 5 words or less what you think of freshly drying paint?

Answer:
Don't mock me, paint.

Farewell By Wayne Russell

Hands friction, melting intrusive block of ice, heart encased,
no morning thaw.

Ocean's carnal wave envelop me, undertow pulling me down,
undertaker in-balms carcass.

Goodbye to love and all that, farewell to that elusive dream.
Raven in stealth mode, intermingled fantasy, darkness betrothed
down by the tracks.

I left her as I found her, alone, the golden-eyed and angst-ridden
woman, with highlights in her hair.

Depart now, into my past woman of my dreams, so elusive, I
shall remember you and our time, so limited.

About Wayne Russell: 

Wayne Russell is a creative writer that was born and raised in Tampa, Florida.
Wayne is the founder and former editor and chief of Degenerate Literature.
Sadly, due to unforeseen circumstances and time restraints DL closed in late 2017.

Wayne's poetry, short stories, and photography, have been widely published both 
online and in print.  

Pine Scent & Marijuana By Victor Clevenger

our ’97 life in a rear-view
day skies were green
night skies
were hot-kaleidoscope-orgasms

we said together we’d love forever
because a day without loving 
would be a day of certain misery
that we would never choose to wake to

I’ve lived twenty-years of days since then
all ones we said we’d never choose

& I have no idea
if they are miserable for you 
I only know that there are still dark mornings
when I can feel a warm vibration
of you whispering words
into my ear

I wake quickly
alone     & imagine

our aged bodies
dangling like slivers of driftwood
from two beaded nooses
in this dreamcatcher
above my headboard

 

About Victor Clevenger:

When not traveling highways across America, Victor Clevenger spends his days in a Madhouse and his nights writing poetry.  Selected pieces of his work have appeared in print magazines and journals around the world, as well as at a variety of places online.  In 2017, Victor was nominated for the Best of the Net Anthology, as well as a Pushcart Prize.  His most recent published collections of poetry include A Finger in the Hornets’ Nest (Red Flag Poetry, 2018) and On The Tip Of Our Tongues (Analog Submission Press, 2018)

 

Worm Shit By Scott Emerson

The cavity where your heart once lied
now cradles a colony of maggots
boiling in frenzied feast

finally giving your life
purpose

About Scott Emerson: 

Scott Emerson has recently appeared in Year's Best Hardcore Horror Vol. 1, Horror Sleaze Trash, The Rye Whiskey Review, Stranger to Blue Water: A West Virginia Poetry Anthology, and the Chilling Tales for Dark Nights' Horror Hill podcast. From 2010-2016 he served as facilitator for Morgantown Poets, a not-for-profit organization that hosted free literary events in Morgantown WV. 

Pay Phones And Quarters By Kevin Martin

I

still

remember

pay

phones 

and 

quarters 

meeting 

drug dealers 

on 

corners

I

shiver 

and 

shake

violently

in my 

past 

life 

sweating 

profusely

I

remember 

that last quarter 

cost me a dollar

almost cost me everything 

that I had left when the 

county sheriff pulled in

and stopped

touch tones in left ear 

now dial tones that match

the rythym of my heart

ringing and ringing

I

know he is still there i can smell

him from afar as the radio of 

enforced freedom cackles in

his ear breaks like a wave in mine

my connect answers the phone 

which startles me and almost

dropped the receiver the 

phones cord makes bending 

metallic sounds that can be 

heard on the other end

that can be heard in Heaven

I

tell my man

that I need to talk

a minute

he said why are you calling 

from a payphone?

told him a lie 

that my ol lady was being a bitch

smashed my cell phone

wasn't ready to leave quite yet

placed my order which was accepted

half an elbow of blow

a little elephants ear is 

what it reminded me of

could see it behind my 

eyelids

silence on the other end

he hung up on me as I'm 

waiting and waiting for 

Davidson County's finest 

mother fucker to drive away

I

drop a quarter in and call my 

brother who even though at two

in the morning I've woken him up

talks to me and understands 

my situation as I lean forward 

to adjust the Glock 21 45acp

safety to vengeance as there is 

always one in the chamber as 

my voyouer of Justice has had

enough of my laughter and gravel 

pops as he pulls away empty blue 

lights disappear and i tell my brother

goodnight hang up and pull out my 

cell phone to let my dude know that

I'm on my way and I'll meet him at the

spot in thirty minutes.

About Kevin Martin: 

Kevin Martin resides in North Carolina and is a regular contributing poet to The Arrival Magazine, Winston Salem, N.C.

Werewolves of New Orleans By Todd Cirillo

“I saw a werewolf drinking a pina colada

at Trader Vic’s, his hair was perfect.” —Warren Zevon



In the last ten minutes

before my birthday begins

I sit in my room,

silent.

No music, no booze,

no guests.

Just me

listening

to the air conditioner

hum.

I feel like Warren Zevon

at the end of the world.

There is no special meaning

to it.

I don’t feel older.

I don’t feel wiser.

I don’t feel tired.



Soon,

my phone will light up

with messaged wishes

and I will make every one count

with friends

and bartenders.

Knocking back

each year

with another bottle,

but for now,

at this moment

with four minutes left,

I understand why Warren

wrote Werewolves of London.



At exactly midnight,

I’ll go outside,

howl at the waxing moon,

let the new neighbors know

they’ve got something real special

on their hands,

walk up to the all-night bar

on the corner,

order a Pina Colada

and my hair

will be perfect.



About Todd Cirillo: 
Todd Cirillo is a poet, publisher, editor and pirate. He co-founded Six Ft. Swells Press and has had multiple books published including his latest, Burning the Evidence (Epic Rites Press, 2017). Todd's poems have appeared in various national and international magazines and cocktail napkins everywhere. Todd lives in New Orleans, Louisiana. He can be found at afterhourspoetry.com and toddcirillo.com

Inside The Crack House With K.W. Peery

Question 1:
Is Johnny Cash your favorite hip hop artist? 

Answer:
No. Snoop Dogg is my favorite hip hop artist.  ~Johnny Cash is his own genre. An icon. A motherfuckin' GOD!!!

Question 2:
Do you find rubber chickens arousing at 4 am?

Answer:
Yes. I find rubber chickens highly arousing 24/7 365. Especially when I'm Under The Bleachers.

Question 3:
Tin foil hat or sheep skin condom which is more stylish?

Answer:
Sheep skin condom with viking helmet.

Question 4:
Could you explain how Texas is the actually capital of the world?

Answer:
Texas is it's own country. So secede already Goddamnit!!!

Question 5:
John Patrick Robbins would like to know can you foresee the future of humanity in the song known as Man In Motion in the film Saint Elmos fire?

Answer:
Not sure about the future of humanity, but John Parr's voice still makes my nipples hard.

Question 6:
What did you think of Twilight staring John Wayne?

Answer:
John appeared a little stiff in Twilight. I prefer his cameo in season 5, episode 20 of the Beverly Hillbillies entitled "The Indians Are Coming"

Question 7:
What is the greatest underwater porn staring non aquatic actresses with a guest appearance by Flipper?

Answer:
Christy Canyon in Dancing With Dolphins Part Deux

Question 8:
Can you name your favorite roller coaster within a five mile radius of James Denis Casey’s House?

Answer:
The Raging Bull when it's running backwards...and only on Ash Wednesday during a leap year.

Question 9:
Are you willing to star in my upcoming art film? 

Answer:
Fuck Yeah. As long as I'm paid in cash today. Just place small, unmarked bills in your Grandma's green Samsonite suitcase and leave it in my locker at the Greyhound Bus Station at 1101 Troost Ave, Kansas City, Mo. 

Question 10:
What did you think of the crime drama The Color Purple?

Answer:
I prefer slasher films, like "The Man With One Red Shoe"

Question 11:
Jimmy Buffet has been reading my thoughts how do I block him out of my mind?
Play Son of a Son of a Sailor in reverse while screaming out the lyrics to LICK IT UP in a Flyin' J truck stop restroom.

Question 12:
Does Charlton Heston narrate your life too?

Answer:
FUCK CHUCK! John Hiatt gets the nod to narrate my story. "Queuing Master of Disaster...as we speak"

Question 13:
Would you still be my friend if I didn’t have a magazine?

Answer:
Hell yeah, Amigo. You bring the cash...She's got the jack.

Question 14:
Can you tell me why my Hollywood career has fallen so downhill? 

Answer:
Your starring role in Peckers of the Caribbean was disappointing. Perhaps you should move to Toronto and try directing autoerotic asphyxiation  Kung Fu films starring a David Carradine stunt double.

Question 15:
Are hunting Knives a good substitute for toilet paper?

Answer:
Only pre 50's era, USA made KA-BAR's...the ones with a picture of Mr. Whipple on the sheath.

What I will Wear To Burning Man By Melanie Browne

I have never gone to Burning Man or been invited to Burning Man.
I look at photos and videos of Burning Man and try to picture myself there.
I try to picture myself in a bikini and steampunk goggles and dreadlocks.
I look down at my feet and imagine wearing Birkenstocks with said bikini and
it doesn't feel right. I don't feel comfortable. I want to dress more like an
American tourist with a faded Yellowstone shirt and Minnie Mouse ears with Elvis style sunglasses. For the bottoms it will probably be Star Wars Pajamas as that is
probably what I will find at Walmart  or Target late on a Friday Night
after my husband is home and can feed the kids some pizza.
I worry I will get Asthma if I go to Burning Man. Will there be enough water and do they have Dr. Pepper available if I get really hot and thirsty? I close my eyes and imagine I am riding a bicycle in the desert with my Minnie Mouse ears and it's really great for a minute or two but then a dust storm appears and I am coughing up some sand-phlegm that is an egg- colored mess and people ride away in an opposite direction from me on their tricked out bicycles, one of which has a Harley Davidson engine. It is really loud and the fumes give me a headache and I forgot to bring ibuprofen. I really want to lie down but I'm afraid women in dreadlocks or men in silver Speedos will force me to read Burning Man propaganda in a falsetto voice into a camera or eat a  key lime pie made from playa sand. I want to go home now. I want to watch commercials on my couch and be left alone.

About Melanie Browne:

Melanie Browne is a poet and fiction writer living in Texas. She has weird dreams about celebrities, so she needs to stop reading so many National Enquirer articles.  Her work can be found in various places such as Pulp Metal Magazine, The Rye Whiskey Review, and Poetry Superhighway.

Rain Ticket By Peter Magliocco

no one can repay
the debt of ages
or liquidate your guilt
into a voided voucher
defectors flee from
on their voyage
to the other side
where guilt doesn't exist,
nor debt,
nor disaffection,
or the tomb's moldy
reminder
like junked human
flesh in the junkyard
of our old body parts
the surgeon tunes you up
for the aftermath
so you can drive
yourself anew
through the fast lane
paying no toll


About Peter Magliocco: 

Peter Magliocco writes from Las Vegas, Nevada, where he occasionally edits the lit-zine ART:MAG. He has recent poetry in HARBINGER ASYLUM, MIDNIGHT LANE BOUTIQUE, POETRY LIFE AND TIMES, DEGENERATE LITERATURE, THE FIVE-TWO, and elsewhere. His neo-speculative novel The Burgher of Virtual Eden was recently released as an ebook available in all the usual places.

My Grandmother's By Daniel Crocker

Ghost stories were seldom
ghost stories. The ghosts
always ended up being
demons

You could feel it coming
miles away, up your spine

She wanted to make sure
we knew there were no
such thing as ghosts
only demons and how
to ask Satan to kindly
step behind us

I've kept him firmly to my side
a Band-Aid I won't peel off

But she believed in UFOs
Swore she'd seen one
as round and orange in
the sky as a grapefruit

She also loved bingo

Otherwise, I don't remember
much about her except she
was a little bit mean and
quick with a belt

It runs in my mom's
side of the family
meanness

I've been
mostly successful
at burying it deep

I've put it at the center
of the earth
where it burns hot

Where all the ghosts are.


About Daniel Crocker:

Daniel Crocker's work has appeared in The Los Angeles Review, Hobart, Big Muddy, New World Writing, Stirring, Juked, The Chiron Review, The Mas Tequila Review and over 100 others. His books include Like a Fish (full length) and The One Where I Ruin Your Childhood (e-chap with thousands of downloads) both from Sundress Publications. Green Bean Press published several of his books in the '90s and early 2000s. These include People Everyday and Other Poems, Long Live the 2 of Spades, the novel The Cornstalk Man and the short story collection Do Not Look Directly Into Me. He has also published several chapbooks through various presses. His newest full length collection of poetry, Shit House Rat, was published by Spartan Press in September of 2017. Stubborn Mule Press will publish Leadwood: New and Selected Poems—1998-2018 in October 2018. He was the first winner of the Gerald Locklin Prize in poetry. He is the editor of The Cape Rock (Southeast Missouri State University) and the co-editor of Trailer Park Quarterly. He's also the host of the podcast, Sanesplaining, about poetry, mental illness and nerd stuff. He is a bipolar, bisexual Gemini living the cliché.

Even The Living Room Carpet Looking To Shag By Ryan Quinn Flanagan

The dealers try to make things real easy
and she swoops in like an endangered hawk
with a deviated septum for talons
snorting up the lines on the table
and throwing her head back as though
she has been in some car accident no one else
could see.

That is what I adore about these parties.
Everyone trying to be anything but themselves
and failing.

It is like watching a few hundred kennel dogs be put down
at the same time.

Often by their own hand.

The millennium cults of mass suicide
have nothing on your basic
Friday night.

Everyone with herpes and in arrears.
Jumping in and out of beds because it is fashionable
and enlightened and advantageous to
do so.


About Ryan Quinn Flanagan:

Ryan Quinn Flanagan is a Canadian-born author residing in Elliot Lake, Ontario, Canada with his wife and many bears that rifle through his garbage.  His work can be found both in print and online in such places as: Evergreen Review, The New York Quarterly, Horror Sleaze Trash, In Between Hangovers, Red Fez, and The Oklahoma Review.

Round Midnight With Miles By Bradford Middleton

My neighbour lumbers down the stairs
Making the empty beer bottles a symphony of rhythm
On my sideboard as the jazz continues now with
Miles playing Round Midnight which is where we are
Right now, desperately clinging to the hope that maybe
The next beer and smoke may finally see off this day
I've just lived and allow me to get some sleep.


About Bradford Middleton: 

Bradford Middleton is a writer from Brighton on England's south coast.  When he's not writing he can be found at the check-out at his job in a large supermarket chain or in his local bar.  He loves one place and hates the other. His writing has or will be featured soon in chapbooks from Crisis Chronicles Press, Holy & Intoxicated Press and Analog Submission Press as well as online or in magazines like the Chiron Review, Paper and Ink, Razur Cuts, the Mad Swirl, where he is a Contributing Poet, Poems-for-All and the Bareback Lit anthology 'And So On'.  If you like these why not send him a friend request at facebook at bradfordmiddleton1.

Inside The Crackhouse with John Patrick Robbins

Question 1: What kind of cult would you like to start?

Answer:
The one that gives me free booze and tons of sex and the occasional pizza .

Question 2: What are your deepest secret beauty secrets?

Answer:
I bathe in human blood on a regular basis worship the Devil and I am actually a immortal.

Question 3: Who is your favorite member of One Direction?

Answer:
The one with the biggest tits

Question 4: Is it true that you have recently taken up residence in Jenifer Lawerence’s basement?

Answer:
Shh don't fuck it up  for me she doesn't know  I’m here , Besides she has a restraining order on me she is so in denial of are relationship.

Question 5: Are Hot Pockets scientifically the meal of the future?

Answer:
Duh I’m a writer everyone knows I can't afford food dumbass.

Question 6: Do you think our Alien overlords are conspiring with the American government to outlaw James Coney Island HotDogs?

Answer:
The CIA holds many secrets including the truth behind the female orgasm and true location of Santa Claus.

Question 7: What brand of liquor would you recommend for a first grader?

Answer:
Well preferably something smooth to genitally ease them into alcoholism ,  like Old Grandad or  Absinthe.

Question 8: What are your thoughts on the philosopher Russel Brand? Do you find him as attractive as I do?

Answer:
I am more a Neil Diamond man myself but I really don't listen to death metal much anymore

Question 9: If you had to compare your love life to a movie would it be Twilight by M Night Shyamalan , or Steven Kubrick’s film entitled My little Pony friendship is magic?

Answer:
I used to love going to the mall with Grandpa till those Nazi bastards kicked us out for hanging round the escalator too often.

Question 10: Am I still pretty enough for Hollywood?

Answer:
Sometimes the voices tell me its wrong to open portals to hell and offer my neighbors as human sacrifices to the dark Lord , but I never listen to them cause only crazy people hear voices.

Question 11: What are your political thoughts about water and freshly cut grass?

Answer:
I believe I will pour concrete all over my lawn and decorate bricks like flowers wearing my Sunday best , and drink whiskey instead of water cause remember when it comes to water fish fuck in it.

Hipster Lycanthrope By R.M. Engelhardt

When the

Full moon

Rises you

Put on your

Leather jacket

And go out

Drinking eat

Hamburgers

With bacon

& cheese

But in

The daylight

You wear

A monkey suit

And pretend

To be a vegan

Named Brad 

About R.M Engelhardt:

R.M. Engelhardt is a veteran poet & writer whose work over the last twenty some years has appeared in such journals & magazines as Rusty Truck, Thunder Sandwich, Sure! The Charles Bukowski Newsletter, Writer's Resist and many others.

His new book of poetry is " Coffee Ass Blues & Other Poems" (Alien Buddha Press 2018) and is available on Amazon.

He currently lives & writes in Upstate NY.

www.rmengelhardt.com

Found A Cure By Terrence Sykes

I
Thought
I
Was
In
Love
But

It
Turned
Out 
To
Be
Acid
Reflux

About Terrence Sykes:

Terrence Sykes was born and raised in the rural coal mining area of Virginia.  This isolation brings the theme of remembrance to his creations, whether real or imagined.  Other interests include heirloom vegetable research & foraging wild edibles .  His poetry - photography - flash fiction has been published in India, Mauritius,Scotland, Spain and the USA

Lighthouse Gone Under By Allison Grayhurst

At the end of a dream, after the burning down,

is a sorrow, there and fixed

like a blockage to ensure failure of the flow

like a broken pipe,

letting flood the lighthouse tower.

It will drown the lighthouse,

even the tip and the ancient bricks below.

And in sinking and dispersing its form

under the water’s pressure it will make a coral bed

for otherwise homeless creatures.

It will make an underwater greenhouse, a place for

tiny beings to hide, find shelter and explore.

It will go on longer down there, below the surface,

go on past decades, generations and nuclear explosions.

It will not be recognised for the tower and steady guiding light

it once held, but it will morph into a thriving community.

Its concrete flesh will grow breathing skin –

slippery green living follicles. It will endure

the winters above and the blank-eyed predators

maneuvering through its make-shift corridors.

This sorrow will take and it will be final.

And then it will give,

infusing a richer purpose, nurturing beating life

into the landscape of its shattered,

now restructured, bones.

About Allison Grayhurst:

Allison Grayhurst is a member of the League of Canadian Poets. Five times nominated for “Best of the Net”, 2015/2017/2018, she has over 1200 poems published in over 475 international journals and anthologies. She has 21 published books of poetry, six collections and six chapbooks. She lives in Toronto with her family. She is a vegan. She also sculpts, working with clay; www.allisongrayhurst.com 

Racing Down My Back By J.J. Campbell

give me neon blue
fingernails racing
down my back

give me the soft
skin of a black
woman in her
early twenties

give me a dirty
imagination and
just a little peek
of pink underwear

give me temptation
lips like sugar, ready
for another high you
can't resist

give me a phone
number, a body of
trouble and just thirty
minutes

to teach a young vixen
about why you should
never toss an old white
book aside without
checking out the pages
first



About J.J Campbell: 

J.J. Campbell (1976 - ?) is currently trapped in suburbia. He's been widely published over the years, most recently at Synchronized Chaos, Under the Bleachers, Misfit Magazine, The Beatnik Cowboy and Mad Swirl. His most recent chapbook "the taste of blood on christmas morning" was published by Analog Submission Press. You can find J.J. most days waxing poetic on his mildly entertaining blog, evil delights. (http://evildelights.blogspot.com)

When The Peep Won't Pop By Tony Pena

I never wanted my wet
dreams to outlive me so
I rewrote the script dozens

of times with a candle
of conscience burned
at both ends to not miss

a beat whether palpitating
in a dark theatre in the old
Times Square drunk on porn

or casually encountering
a lady in similar straights
subbing lust for love making

the grind more bearable,
but happy endings tailored only
for Hollywood and morning packs

more pounds of dirty laundry
in a well worn leather case once
a valise but now just baggage.

 

About Tony Pena:

Tony Pena was selected as 2017-2018 Poet Laureate for the city of Beacon, New York.  
A new volume of poetry and flash fiction, "Blood and Beats and Rock n Roll," is available now at Amazon.  
His publication credits include   "Dogzplot,"   "Gutter Eloquence," “Hudson Valley Transmitter,” “Misfit Magazine,” "Red Fez," “Rye Whiskey Review,”  "Slipstream,"  "Underground Voices," "Zygote in my Coffee,"  and others as well as a self published chapbook, "Opening night in Gehenna."
Colorful compositions and caterwauling with a couple of chords can be seen at:

Www.youtube.com/tonypenapoetry

Www.facebook.com/tonypenapoetry

Front Porch By Smokey Dodge

It's far worse to never take that step .

Then exist without regrets .

Listen at night to the wind that cools. 

Do you ever wonder where it truly 

Goes?

About Smokey Dodge:

Smokey Dodge is a poet , Musician , Teacher and drifter of this world.

We may never meet more than today.

But just Incase this is goodbye.

I got nothing but love to share.

Inside The Crackhouse With Ryan Quinn Flanagan

Question 1: How often does your wife make you wear nipple clamps is it just around the house or is it out in public too?

Answer:
My wife is quite the stickler so I wear nipple clamps most the time.  And certainly not just around the house.  I wear nipple clamps in public because the 60s said it was good to share.  My wife started me off with a starter set of clothespins but they hurt my nipples so much when I was lactating that we switched when we jumped above the poverty line and could afford proper nipple clamps.  Now I feel like a real professional.  Sometimes I make my own cubicle out of boxes so I can sit in it all day being professional.  The silverfish that fall out of the boxes from storage are my friends and colleagues.  I name them and we go to lunch together.  Share water cooler gossip and compliment my brand new shiny nipple clamps.

Question 2: What is your favorite sex toy?

Answer:
My favourite sex toy is the step ladder in the garage.  It is taller than I am but we make things work.  I used to dry hump an old flashlight but the batteries would always fall out and then it broke after I taped it to a blue miner’s cap and went digging for China in the back garden.  My neighbour’s garden.  They chased me off so I keep to myself now.  I’m shy, but my step ladder is a Taurus so we can’t keep our hands off each other astrologically speaking.  Which reminds me, I should probably mention at this juncture that this is not my home planet.  Where I come from probing is as natural as Wonder Bread.  We are a very sensual peoples.  I have more than ten erogenous zones in just my ankle alone.  When my ankle dry humps my step ladder we watch the movie Ghost.  Magical evenings for sure! 

Question 3: How is your band called The Beatles been doing?

Answer:
We recently broke up after one of our members became a Walrus and another moved to a shooting range in New York. Our last single “Greece is a Country, Grease is Not” did nothing.  Even with the payola boys pushing it up the charts.  Stayed there for like three whole minutes then shot off into space.  I’m thinking of launching a new two piece called The Step Ladders.  Straight up Gangsta Polka all the way.  I’m also working on a solo project called Single Scoop.  The Beatles are history but you can listen to our entire catalog on YouTube.  I go on and dislike my own stuff periodically just to keep things honest.

Question 4: What is your favorite Nickleback song?

Answer:
Wow, that’s a tough one, so many to choose from.  I guess it would be “Gay for the Stay.”  I thought that song was really ground breaking in a lot of ways.  The entire “Drop the Soap” album is though.  No wonder it went 400 times platinum.  There just aren’t many truly authentic talents around like Nickelback.  Most people are listening to cheap imitations or professional hacks like Led Zeppelin, Jimi Hendrix, David Bowie or watered down kinds of their ilk.  The Stones stole Nickelback’s “Wild Corsets” and renamed it after farm animals so people would think of Orwell instead of Nickelback.  I heard Pavarotti and 2Pac are going to do a cover of Nickelback’s “Queefers Won the War” which should be epic!  I can’t wait to see what those crazy Canuck boys come up with next.   

Question 5: Have you ever used maple syrup as lubricant?

Answer: 
I have, but it gets quite sticky.  Wonderful for edible panties though.  I chew them off all my stuffed animals, we are very close.

Question 6: When you watched Good Will Hunting did you Hope Matt Damon and Ben Affleck would kiss like I did?

Answer:
It’s the only thing that was missing from that movie, other than a giant killer Squid call INKBLOT.  But yes, I certainly thought they would stop fighting in the basketball court scene and start making out against the fence to trick the cops.  Then Will wouldn’t have had to go to jail at all and him and Chuckie could have really expressed their feelings.  Southie needs more love. And double burgers.  They could have also gotten together in the batting cage when Matt Damon was throwing his balls at Ben Affleck’s face.  The sexual tension was palpable.  I don’t know how Roger Ebert sat through that without sticking his hot buttery Q-Ray bracelet in Gene Siskel’s ear and whispering sweet critiques to the Akashic record.

Question 7: Who do you think is the hottest male actor ever?

Answer: 
Gotta go with Nemo, especially when they found him.  Something about every scene being a nude scene because you are a fish and don’t wear clothes is really hot to me.  It’s a shame his career ended when Manhattan foodies turned him into high end sushi.  I would have liked to see him play Goose in the Top Gun remake where Goose swims back up to the surface and gives Mav the thumbs up for chasing the Russkies off so cheeseburgers can live freely.  I’m such a fanboy of Nemo.  I have his poster on the wall over my bed.  Sometimes I lick it for luck. 

Question 8: What is your favorite scene in the original dirty dancing film with Patrick Swaysee

Answer:
When Patrick Swayze becomes a ghost that can carry watermelons.  Either that, or when he dresses up as a waiter and tells that jerkoff that “nobody puts gravy in a corner.”  Everybody knows you keep it in the middle of the table to avoid spilling but that asshole wouldn’t budge.  I thought the lift scene in the water with Baby was stupid.  Nemo was a fish and would have done a much better job.
 
Question 9: Do you think I can find the man of my dreams through my horoscope?

Answer:
It can’t hurt.  I think you can find a man wherever Adam’s apples are picked like noses, that’s what I always say.  I would suggest just going down to your local YMCA and slapping strange men on their bare asses with a wet towel to see who complains the least.  That’s a sign of compatibility to me.  Any man who will take a wet towel across the rump from a complete stranger and then ask him to dinner is cool with me.

Question 10: As a technical wizard cowboy of the north what computer would you recommend to go skiing in the Swiss alps with?

Answer:
Definitely not a Dell.  I bowled one down the black diamond moguls once and the results were not pretty!  Probably a Toshiba or Hewlett Packard if I was you.  Acer’s are the only brand of computer that naturally knows how to ski.  But since you’re asking this technical wizard cowboy of the north, I assume you can ski and could teach an Acer easily enough.

Question 11: What is the best beer to drink during a serial killer spree with a bear named Tinker bell? Also who the fuck riding the unicycle?

Answer:
Budweiser is the king of beers, but kings are abdicating all the time…they have no staying power.  Might I suggest a nice Pilsner or pale ale to coax your furry lumbering Tinkerbell out of hibernation?  It’s really a matter of personal taste my fair Squire.  Find the one that makes you feel like a sexy blood clot and you are good to go.  Conor McGregor is riding the unicycle.  He is a good enough cage fighter, but he needs to work on his cardio.


Question 12: What is the best book that you’ve ever written?

Answer:
Probably The Old Man and the Sea.  I had Nemo in mind for casting the whole time when I was writing it.  And Dumbledore for the old man.  I figured the ocean could play the sea if we couldn’t get the sea on board.  I hear the sea is difficult to work with.  People talk.

Super Bowl Sunday By Michael Dwayne Smith

The holiest day of the year.
I remember my Uncle Bill, the one time
he hosted the party. Spent the entire day
getting people to listen to his goddamn
Mel Torme records and learn to appreciate
a fine Islay scotch whisky. Last I saw him,
he was being dragged by three cops, shirtless,
bleeding, when he smiled at me and said,
You let a motherfucker slide,
he thinks he can steal home plate.


About Michael Dwayne Smith:

Michael Dwayne Smith is most recently author of the poetry collection Roadside Epiphanies (Cholla Needles Press), available at MojaveRiverPress.storenvy.com. Nominated multiple times for the Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net, his work haunts hundreds of literary houses--such as The Cortland Review, New World Writing, Star 82 Review, Blue Fifth Review, Gravel, Word Riot, San Pedro River Review, Chiron Review--and has been widely anthologized. He lives near a Mojave Desert ghost town with his family and rescued animals.

Waiting For It By Ezhno Martin

I pass a whore in the hall way
I can tell cause she moves like cold dish water,
her eyes on the chipped paint horizon
and my neighbor's in his underwear in his doorway
eyes betraying that he's praying
for her to come back and stay long enough
for him to fall asleep.

Inside my apartment I quickly lock the door
and throw my coat in the corner
the dim light of one lamp
next to my bed leads me to lie down like a dying moth
and I look past the glass
the filament inside on fire
to the two clean spikes
in my desk drawer

have I drank too much for a shot?
no, not yet

the mixture shouldn't be heavy on the oil slick
could probably split this ten in half
and ride lightening sighs and groans to sleep

But if not
then that's the best part...

the big one is always present
and that encourages my thumb on the plunger
the flame on the spoon
the neck-tie I use to tie off

knowing one day I'll miscalculate
or maybe hit it just right

I lock the door when I do it
because I don't want them to stumble upon me blue
but rather kick in the frame days later to find me gray
the needle in my fingers
or maybe just inches away
like one more would water me back to life

But back to me
in my room

my desk lamp like a search light aimed at my shirtless corpse to be
that's how I feel nowadays like I'm just waiting for it
and I cook it down and pull it up
push the prick into my vein
when the blood's in the chamber
 I pause

not to make a wish
but to see my room clearly one last time
before
whatever...

Yea in fact sometimes I even say it
the second after I shoot

whatever...

ready for just that and nothing else
whatever

About Ezhno Martin:

According to Bob Phillips -- Toledo's Best Poet, and an old man who knows every prostitute between Flint Michigan and Cleveland Ohio -- "Ezhno's does what Ezhno does and goes around fucking up everything."

Down By The Riverside By Wayne Russell

Take this heart down by the riverside
cast its lifeless form over the side of
this all-encompassing overpass.

One lash for a senseless suicide, one
lash for the bleak wedding day bride.

Descending into the mystic mire, waters
dark and congested, with a loss to
unimaginable to bear.

Take this heart down by the riverside
quick before it beaks curative dawn
and sparrows start their symphonic
ode to joy.

Fish leaping at insects on the mirrored
surface of pain, resurrecting intrusive
nightmares, simmering underneath, the
ungodly sick flesh of earthy layer.

The willow bride allowed the groom of
earth, no asylum, leap of faith into dark
chasm, no return not like Lazarus, no
not today.

About Wayne Russell:

Wayne Russell is a creative writer that was born and raised in Tampa, Florida.

Wayne is the founder and former editor and chief of Degenerate Literature.

Sadly, due to unforeseen circumstances and time restraints DL closed in late 2017.

Wayne's poetry, short stories, and photography, have been widely published both 

online and in print.  

How Not To Dream By Jay Passer

Say I was a millionaire
Guess I’d yearn to be a billionaire
Sell some stocks
Stave off those hob-nob crony favors
Buy myself any available Van Gogh
Store it in the root cellar.

I got two lighters
One black, the other white
Bic lighters, disposable
One has less fuel than the other
Or is it more?
Not sure if even Buddha knows.

About Jay Passer:

Jay Passer's work has appeared in print and online since 1988. His work has been included in several anthologies and he is the author of 10 books, the most recent being The Black and the Blues, from Alien Buddha Press, 2018. Passer lives and works in San Francisco, the city of his birth.

Not A Love Poem By Mike Zone

she asked

where have you been?

why haven’t you written?

want some pizza?

“I’ve been hiking in the mornings

smoking pot on the trails

thinking about eagles and wooden mermaids”

like a wolf

low humming growl

glinting ocular orbs slit

“Who is she?”

“There’s no one”

“I find that hard to believe.”

“There hasn’t been in years

I like my solitude”

“If I didn’t exist, would you be with her?”

“There’s no one.”

“Is she the mermaid?

Does she swim to you in wet dreams?”

“I like being alone.”

“BULLSHIT”

silence- but there’s an emanating

underlying white noise- mounting

“I’d like to continue my walk.”

anticipation

gripping tighter, my coffee’s paper cup

“You’re going through

an awful lot of lengths to protect her.”

“Who?”

seconds pass

“Who?”

swoops like a bird,

arms spread  wing-span

popped out wide awake eyes

“WHO!-WHO!” high pitched

“What are you a fuckin’ owl?!” she accused

unlike an owl I’ve accrued no wisdom

About Mike Zone: 

Mike Zone is the author of Void Beneath the Skin, Fellow Passengers: Pubic Transit Poetry, Meditations & Musings and Better than the Movies: 4 Screenplays.  He is the co-writer of the graphic novel series American Anti-hero from Alien Buddha Press.His poetry and stories have been featured in: Beatnik Cowboy, Horror Sleaze Trash, In Between Hangovers, Mad Swirl, Rasputin Poetry, Synchronized Chaos, Triadae Magazine and Your One Phone Call. He scrapes by in Grand Rapids, MI.