FLESH WOUNDS by RC Edrington

Offering 46 now available: Flesh Wounds by RC Edrington.

 

Sick Fucks

in a trailer
with boarded-up windows
on 33rd & 5th
a rookie cop puked
into a shit clogged toilet
& called for an ambulance
despite the fact
2 year old Melissa
had been rotting
from starvation
& dehydration
for at least a week
while in the trash
cluttered bedroom
momma lay overdosed
with a welfare check
coursing pure Afghani
horse through her caved
hypodermic veins

2 blocks away
on South 6th Avenue
Johnny’s 3rd grade head
bounced like an 8-ball
against a scarred
black hardwood floor
blood splattered
an abstract painting
to stain the vomit
stenched Ice-T shirt
of momma’s white-nigger
wanna-be pimp
whacked out on
crack cocaine

3 blocks south
& 1 block east
this alcoholic writer
sits at a pool hall
& slams his
5th shot of Jose Cuervo
& fist against the bar
while Shorty passes
a Folger’s coffee can
for the families
left behind
& tells me services
will be held at
St. Anthony’s Cathedral
over on 6th & 22nd
3 days apart
& in my reflective
drunkeness
wonder if
these loyal Catholics
had been permitted
condoms & abortion
none of this shit
would have had
to go down

HOW WE FUCK SHIT UP by Aleathia Drehmer & Brad Burjan

Offering 45 is now available: How We Fuck Shit Up by Aleathia Drehmer & Brad Burjan.

Toy(ing) with the Revolution

For Brad Burjan
 
You can’t wrap your fingers
around it, the elusive it.
 
There aren’t too many
things to wrap a finger
 
around, but the image
burns my eyes; your
 
fingers long and rough
wrapping around the neck
 
of the establishment.  You
mutter it is all gift wrap
 
for tiny toys anyway.  I try to laugh
but all I see are toy machetes
 
and your fingers the revolutionaries
taking it all down; your breath
 
the revolution itself, pulling
it in and spitting it back out.
 
Your tears create the flood
that washes them all away.
 

Aleathia Drehmer

WE WILL PLAN BIG THINGS by Mary Stone Dockery

Offering 44 is now available: We Will Plan Big Things by Mary Stone Dockery.

Like Gravity

The dots on the star charts

are the same size as ants trailing

from the kitchen counter

to the back door, the same size

as holes in the mesh screen.

They are the same size

as the moles on your back,

as stars we point to

from the back patio at night.

Your back is the same

silky substance as the sky

contains as many constellations,

I trace each mole

as if the sky begins at my fingers.

Each day we are tugged closer

to the ground, microscopic moments

us touching, that thing you said ,

your back arching over a bed

the ground beneath us trembling

with the weight of clouds, pain, comets –

flung into cosmic distances.

The whites of your eyes

work like gravity,

drawing me in

PARROT IN A PIRATE’S HAT by Mark Cunningham

Offering 43 is now available: Parrot in a Pirate’s Hat by Mark Cunningham.

 

 

The corn cob holders looked like little cobs of corn.  I was suspicious of tampering because the new plastic didn’t come wrapped in plastic.  Charlie Brown doesn’t have a belly button.  She pointed out that “know” and “no” are pronounced the same.  If You Can Read This, You Are Too Close.

THE TEN PAGES PRESS READER – VOLUME 2

Offering 42 is now available: The Ten Pages Press Reader (Volume II).

CLUSTER
David Tomaloff
i.
the elephant, the lion,
&the scarecrow—

how we traded our hearts
for the flesh-colored soil

ii.
upon our shoulders,
the trembling hands of the forest

,  &how all we could muster was
everything &tomorrow

iii.
how we folded ourselves
into clusters

of average little bombs