The Walk Of Shame by John Patrick Robbins

My neighbors view them all.
An assorted crew of wayward souls.
Usually highly hungover and in different states of awkwardness.

Most leave without saying goodbye, others linger until the buzz wears off with the bliss.

As long as they leave, it's truly a mission accomplished to me.
It's funny how others find shame in how two adults choose to spend their time together.

I sat there watching the morning news with a semi dressed companion from the previous night.

Sipping a bloody Mary as a fool and an overgrown child was filmed giving yet another long winded hate filled speech.

In front of the white house steps.
He spewed his lies he would deny even speaking the previous day.

He walked off, hands clenched looking like if you put coal between his ass cheeks.
He could produce a diamond.

A rambling disgrace protected by men he considered peasants and mocked as losers in the press.
The only walk of shame is a fool standing in the shadows of true men unlike himself.

A spoiled child who bought the world only to attempt to destroy what he could never truly control.

I flipped off the TV and slipped from the insanity to enjoy the pleasure of another lost as I.

The biggest sin is in not living every second of this life to suit yourself.

Smoke them while you got em kids, cause this party is truly running on borrowed time.

John Patrick Robbins, is the editor in chief of The Rye Whiskey Review  and Black Shamrock Magazine.  His work has been published here at Punk Noir Magazine, Fearless Poetry Zine,  The Dope Fiend Daily, Piker Press, 1870 Magazine, San Pedro River Review,  San Antonio Review , Herion Love Songs, Romingos Porch and Schlock Magazine. 

His work is always unfiltered 

The Dreaming Dog by Gwil James Thomas

The world has changed 

since I was last here,

but at least my 

mum’s kitchen hasn’t - 

where across 

the chequerboard floor, 

the old family dog’s 

deep asleep, 

tapping his arthritic paws 

up and down effortlessly - 

running miles 

through the dreamworld 

even if he can’t 

in this one anymore.

I wonder if he can 

have lucid dreams?  

I wonder if he knows 

that he’s left the dream,

when he wakes? 

I wonder if him, me,  

every fucking word 

that I’ve written and 

everything that’s 

happened and ever will - 

are all just part of some 

interconnected dream 

unfolding in god’s head? 

Suddenly the dog wakes up,

stares at me and sighs -

as I laugh and focus 

on my own world again - 

the one filled with poetry, 

passion and chaos.

Gwil James Thomas is a novelist, poet and inept musician. His written work can be found in numerous publications in print and online and has been nominated for The Pushcart Prize and Best of The Net. He resides in his hometown of Bristol, England, but has also lived in London, Brighton and Spain. His most recent chapbook can be found here: https://analogsubmission.com/chapbooks/gwiljamesthomas-cocoontransitions

Find Your Eyes by Kevin M. Hibshman

Your gaze, a few steps behind.

Hipster vampires rule the night.

They don't eat meat but will drink blood.

Try to keep up instead of stopping to console every lonely tree stump.

Please don't wave at the cars passing by.

This is a respectable street guaranteed to meet the needs of the most puerile tourist.

I don't want any of them to notice us.

They sense that we are intruders.

Men from mars in full regalia.

I can't watch for you over my shoulder.

I am fogged in heavy second sight.

Don't attempt to describe what you see.

Get your mouth off of that tail pipe!

Kevin M. Hibshman has had poems, reviews and collages published in numerous publications world wide. Most recently, his work has been published by Rye Whiskey Review, Drinkers Only, The Crossroads and 1870. In addition to editing his own poetry e-zine, FEARLESS, he has authored sixteen chapbooks including: Incessant Shining (Alternating Current, 2011) and Love Sex Death Dreams (Green Bean Press, 2000).