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Archive for June, 2010

By Nick Hranilovich

Leaving planet, as of next available flight.
Please feed my people while I’m away.
Return date unsure. Ticket says “Rapture.”
Won’t have my phone with me- zero service bars in deep space.
In case of emergency, I put the names and pronunciations
of every major deity on the fridge

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PSH

By Parker Tettleton

Philip Seymour Hoffman
wants you to know it’s more
fun not knowing it’s going
to be ok, wants his nuts in
your sundae because sugar
will fuck you up, won’t sleep
with your wife every other
day again ever, will text
upon arrival, beat the kids
to the table, make sure
dinner’s run over under
a bed of salt and pepper.

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By Russell Streur

Camel: I’m parched.
Tavern Door: The door’s open.
Bartender: How’s life treating you, big fella?
Camel: Life’s not treating me at all.
Bartender: How’s that?
Camel: I’m paying for everything.
Bartender: That bad?
Camel: Those slave drivers I work for are killing me.
Bartender: Nobody ever said life on the Silk Road was going to be smooth
Camel: I need a vacation.
Tempting Skirt: What do you have in mind?
Camel: How’d she get here?
Bartender: It’s a public establishment.
Tempting Skirt: We have some lovely options this week.
Camel: Tell me more.
Tempting Skirt: Duet In Melancholy Distance is a popular destination.
Camel: I’d like something sunnier.
Tempting Skirt: Bigger Limbo might be up your alley.
Camel: Sounds expensive.
Tempting Skirt: But worth every penny. How about Wander Off In Fog?
Bartender: That sounds like fun.
Camel: I need a drink.
Bartender: What’ll it be?
Camel: Hemlock. Straight up.

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Child Sickness

By Tyson Bley

Drugging an infant was awful.
The disruptive behavior
of the infant was awful.

Nostalgic for my rental car,
I groaned until the nostalgia
was ground to powder on the floor.

Turning over the mousetrap was interesting:
the thing was actually a nanopatch.
Formerly a stealth child-batterer was stuck in it.

Not stealthy enough.
But the stealth child-batterer was actually already rotting in it.
That was back when mousetraps caught such things.

Anyway the nanopatch alleviated the awful behavior,
it caught the screaming, the awfulness.
Which is actually pretty crafty because the disruptive behavior

has a thing for coalitionary killing:
your infant (which you decided to drug)
mobilizes allies in alleys, in throat tunnels,

and together – infant hand in hand with
awful behavior – they wield the force
I wielded to lurch out of my rental car

right into the stomp-path of social services.
Being actually pretty evil, a globe-shaped globemaster,
the infant was, in clinical terms, at the helm of this

car-exploding force:
and after drugging him I enjoyed
the placidity not just in its, but my own behavior,

marveling at the etiquette posters
on the government buildings
and the Harry Potter-themed ceramics in gardens.

Oh, I did a lot of dwelling in shade-sprinkled places.
I never had the guts to contaminate the saliva
in the rattling propaganda

of the birthday boy, on his birthday. The customer’s
rampage through the little store
was nothing if not the disruptive behavior’s fire

in the manifold, in the metal frame exploding
after squeezing it until proven deadly,
bursting into your float and away, slack-faced and content, you float.

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By Bob Phillips

cutout Cheney crashes on point
mouth mouth of industmili TAR tarry
like a yellow discarded filter butt
leaching in the gutter

cuz the main brain doesn’t like to be seen
seen talking, herd talking sheeple

gutter boarding surfs up
slime sly whispers on the beach
of talking waves, assert and deny
trashline of con deposits

truth a manatee cut by props
awash in the Rushes

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By George Anderson

it’s most
intriguing
to learn

that as you age
your memory

telescopes beyond itself
churning within

the occasional dissembling
loose cannons of thought

blasting boundaries
then all is silent

apart from the buzz
of the DVD-R copier

as they embrace
she removes
the black patch
from her eye

he pulls a band-aid
from his forehead
revealing light

it’s like unremembered lines
the core feelings outlined

their embrace the popping cork of desire
eyes questioning in the darkness

the descent of explanation
now in a sharp
trajectory

downwards

0056
0167
0198
0243

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Vulnerable

By Paul Handley

Are you adopted?
Who’s your doctor?
What happened to your face?
Where did you get that?

How tall are you?
Why can’t I reply,
How big are your tits?
Your elbow appears to have two
Ball joints.

I admit I stole the tits
From Paul Newman for
A gloss of seemly
Over my crassness, who wanted to say
Can I see your tits when
Women asked to see his blue eyes.

Tits is less nice than breasts, but not
As open as with many African natives,
Though apparently acceptable when
Asking for chintzy beads. Blue eyes
Are better than beads, height better than
Beads is debatable.

Blue eyes> chintzy beads
Height dimensions > = or or = breasts
= valid retort.

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