John Dodges a Silver Bullet. By John Doyle

Grace lived in a state of grace

from roughly June 1989 until Spring 1993

when glam-metal had truly died its death three-times over

to be replaced by scraggly college-kids 

in drive-thru burger-joints

spitting on customers' hot-dogs.

She was our white-lace, white-pumps peroxide Hypate

sitting dangle-legged side-stage, 

while that kid who looked like Yngwie Malmsteen

tuned his imitation Stratocaster.

I worked with Grace's brother washing cars on Saturdays

so I could keep Neil Peart's dreams alive

in distant universal outposts of rebellion Neil wrote about

for 7:99 a shot on CDs I'd plan to serenade 

in my first car that I'd afford -

when I stop buying Rush CDs and started saving for my first car.

I saw Grace maybe three weeks ago, in the bank 

when I was squeezing a last 50 from my 27 years of savings.

I thought I'd ask her to join me 

for one of those hot dogs -

looks like Grace's been through one or four more than me 

in those intervening years. 

John Doyle became a Mod again in the summer of 2017 to fight off his impending mid-life crisis; whether this has been a success remains to be seen. He has has two collections published to date, A Stirring at Dusk in 2017, and Songs for Boys Called Wendell Gomez in 2018, both on PSKI's Porch. 

Five Foot Nine. By Ian Lewis Copestick

When I was 16 years old and

first got arrested by the police.
They measured me, and I
was 5' 11 3/4 ". I was slightly
disappointed to be under
six feet. My dad was 6' 2", and
I wanted to be at least as tall
as him.
Yesterday, I had to go to the
hospital
for a scan. As the guy weighed and
measured me, he said " Five foot
nine, that's about right." I was
insulted.
I know it's stupid, and doesn't mean
a thing.
But I don't want to have nearly 3 inches
knocked off any part of my body.
Except, maybe my waist.

Ian Lewis Copestick is a 46 year old writer (I prefer that term to poet ) from Stoke on Trent, England. I spend most of my life sitting,  thinking then sometimes writing. I have been published in Anti Heroin Chic, the Dope Fiend Daily, Outlaw Poetry, Synchronized Chaos, the Rye Whiskey Review, Medusa's Kitchen and Horror Sleaze Trash.

Dos Putas Be Trippin. By El Bastardo

I find the solace in stroking my chimichanga to public pictures of my facebook amigos.

But I am stopped in my tracks when gazing upon beautiful backyardico of beautiful co editor.

Bastardo have feeling like never before.

Bastardo quickly downloaded all dis senoritas pics so we could share some quality moments.

Dis senorita has captured bastardos' heart and now I have captured her images .

Dis truly win win situation ole!

El Bastardo,  is the true Lucha poet and Mexican wrestling legend.
He is a man of mystery who lives out in the open and often makes public appearances.

His work has been published in Horror Sleaze Trash , Under The Bleachers and here at the Dope Fiend Daily .

His first book will be published soon by the Dope Fiend Daily Press.

Titanic. By Gwil James Thomas

Some 

people 

board 

the ship 

purely 

to

stand 

on deck 

and gleefully 

watch 

as it 

inevitably 

hits 

the iceberg - 

so 

that they 

can say 

that 

they got 

wet once

many years 

ago - 

their 

hearts 

already 

stone 

cold. 

Gwil James Thomas is a novelist, poet and inept musician originally from Bristol, England. His written work has been featured in 3 Poets, Low Light Magazine, 3AM, GOB, Mythos Zine, Bold Monkey, Cephalo Press, North of Oxford, Drinkers Only, Outlaw Poetry, The Beatnik Cowboy and also here. His sixth poetry chapbook Cocoon Transitions is available for preorder at Analog Submission Press. He is currently laying low somewhere in Northern Spain.

temporary restraining order. By jck hnry

i bumped into my past / recently / a friend / from high school

she looked at me / confused / after i said  hello / as if we'd never met

as if we never fucked / in the back / of her daddy's Camaro / in 1981

recognition came slow / memory incomplete / we made small talk

she seemed / nervous / as if someone / might catch her / talking

to a stranger /

it's been 37 years / since we connected / in the Camaro / before church

and sometimes after

i asked about family / kids / and related / seems she has a son / and three daughters

the boy is 36 / that gave me pause

two weeks later / a TRO is presented / she doesn't want me coming around / as if

i knew where she lived / or cared

jck hnry is a neo-modernist, post-apocalyptic writer, living in the hard scrub of a californian desert.  after a 10 year hiatus hnry is back at it.  recent publications include:

includes publication in Horror Sleaze Trash, Bold Monkey, Red Fez, dope fiend daily and a bunch of other noble zines and journals.  Chapbooks/Books: “Snow in Summer and the Playground is Closed,” “Empty Houses-Kendra Steiner Editions,” “the Downtown Cafe (Erbacce Press),” “With the Patience of Monuments (neoPoesis) ,” “Crunked, (Epic Rites)” and “the Righthand Curve of a Continuous Circle. (Blunt Trauma Press).”  hnry is also editor and publisher of "Heroin Love Songs, V2.0, 7thEd" available now. for more go to jackhenry.wordpress.com.

Close the Book. By Ahmad Al-Khatat

It’s the time to close

the book of negativity
Stop flipping over the
pages of wasted years
and stand in front of
-waves of confidence

It’s the time to close
the book of remorse
Start creating a place
for satisfaction above
-some dark thoughts
of attempting suicides

It’s the time to close
the book of long isolation
I want to feel like I am loved
to my country, back to my life
Smile again without wearing an
emotional smile that lasts forever

Ahmad Al-Khatat was born in Baghdad, Iraq. His work has appeared in print and online journals globally and has poems translated into several languages. He has been nominated for Best of the Net 2018. He is the author of The Bleeding Heart Poet, Love On The War’s Frontline, Gas Chamber, Wounds from Iraq, Roofs of Dreams, and The Grey Revolution. He lives in Montreal, Canada.