Two Poems by Jay Passer

It Feels Like

she's gonna be

my last

great love;

just like

she was

20 years

ago

 

yeah,

that time

same kinda thing

 

this one's

almost

the same

age as

that one was

back then 

 

that's right,

just a

poor kid

 

but

this time

I'm not 20

but 40 

years older,

give or take

a minute or

a thousand

million

 

say

 

galaxies, or 

on some rainy 

afternoon,

brushstrokes

by Picasso

 

this time,

that time,

in fact

both times,

she's a

ginger

 

what a

surprise

 

she might as

well be an

elf

 

either

from the 

shtetl or

on a

spaceship;

 

its always

back to

earth

 

same thing

that time

as

this time,

in fact

all the damn

time

 

hard landing,

soft touch

 

same

impossibility,

same

perfection,

same tiresome

haunts,

same glorious

kiss

 

another

rainy morning,

her red hair 

wet, her 

cold white

hands

 

in mine

Not Even Malpractice

There’s nothing wrong with me other than an overactive libido. The chronic pain, apparently, is psychosomatic. And all the bloodwork on God’s green earth won’t make her answer my texts either.

Bio: The poetry of Jay Passer first appeared in Caliban magazine in 1988, alongside the work of William S. Burroughs, Maxine Hong Kingston and Wanda Coleman. He is the author of 14 collections of poetry and prose and has been included in print and online publications worldwide. A lifetime plebeian, Passer has labored as dishwasher, barista, soda jerk, pizza cook, housepainter, courier, warehouseman, bookseller and mortician's apprentice. Originally a native of San Francisco, Passer currently resides in Los Angeles, California. His latest collection of poems, Son of Alcatraz, released in February of 2024 by Alien Buddha Press, is available on Amazon.

One Poem by Ryan Quinn Flanagan

Aswan Willie Dixon

 

Aswan Willie Dixon

took the power of Egypt 

with him wherever 

he went.

 

Dealt dime bags

out front this Bloor West Village 

head shop 

in a tri-coloured beanie.

 

Went home to the same woman 

every night, and this half-blind

rescue dog named Horus 

that never learned to 

play fetch.

 

Ate frozen peas from the ice box 

with a generous stick of butter.

 

Over all those scratchy records.

Promising he wouldn’t go back.

 

Come raging cannon

or fodder.

 

That was Aswan

Willie Dixon.

 

 

Bio: Ryan Quinn Flanagan is a Canadian-born author residing in Elliot Lake, Ontario, Canada with his wife and mounds of snow.  His work can be found both in print and online in such places as: Evergreen Review, The New York Quarterly, The Asylum Floor, Horror Sleaze Trash, Red Fez, and The Oklahoma Review. He enjoys listening to the blues and cruising down the TransCanada in his big blacked out truck.

Two Poems by Daniel S. Irwin

Bug Juice

He'll sleep thru his whole incarceration.
Twelve years in prison loaded up on drugs.
On his release date, he'll be taken off drugs.
He'll find a different world, a changed world.
He'll look and see a stranger in the mirror.
Free, at last, from the iron bars and stone walls,
The escort picks him up and drives him to the
Mental Health facility, where he'll be held,
Doped up again, this time as 'treatment'.

 

 

Death Called Me

Death called me.
Fortunately, I have
Caller ID.
I put him on 'hold'.

Bio: Daniel S. Irwin was not raised by wolves, just the notorious naked apes (not Tarzan)in the hills of Southern Illinois. Artist, actor, writer, Dudeist priest. Work published in over 100 magazines and journals world-wide. Seventeen books of questionable value.  Once worked in a prison for the criminally insane, now retired misses his friends.Latest work can be found in Horror Sleaze Trash, The Rye Whiskey Review, Beatnik Cowboy, Cajun Mutt, and on some fine shithouse walls.

Three Poems By J.J Campbell

Like Teaching an Infant Algebra

another night where the first 

jack and coke quickly becomes 

your fourth

 

where the overs aren’t hitting

and the unders aren’t either

 

explaining a parlay to your date

is like teaching an infant algebra

 

your patience runs as thin

as her tolerance for alcohol

 

eventually, you’re smart enough 

to change the subject completely

 

compliment her looks

 

crack a joke, make her smile

 

fuck, i needed that three 

to go down

 

any chance of this night going 

well will only happen if we get 

the fuck out of here

 

check please

 

no, i’ll take care of the tip

 

just wait until your sexy ass

gets in the car

 

 

Natural Causes

 

you ever wonder about death

 

about what will be said when 

you are found prone, lifeless

 

who knows where the gun 

will be

 

or is it just me

 

natural causes doesn’t have 

that sexy ring to it like suicide 

or dancing with a train

 

of course, there is the asshole 

on my other shoulder

 

the one more geared toward 

logic, practical thought

 

he tends to believe my death 

will be mundane

 

in bed

 

probably with a belt around 

my neck trying to reach climax

 

it is always those straightlaced 

fuckers that have the most 

perverse thoughts resting 

under that comfortable 

sweater

 

the brain i use most often 

never thinks about death

 

he would simply like it if something

other than my hand would slide 

down there from time to time

 

A Night of Doing Strange Drugs

 

she had the taste of dr. pepper 

with a hint of a clove cigarette

 

i was in one of my underground 

music phases

 

she, for some reason, thought 

i was cool

 

i would prove her wrong 

soon enough

 

but this was a night of doing 

strange drugs

 

making out on a shitty couch

 

taking her home and her laughing 

when i asked if i could come in

 

i thought maybe she was flirting

 

apparently, sleep was more 

important

 

but still wired, i drove the night

looking for a hooker to break 

me in two

 

no luck

 

a drawback of the small cities 

of the midwest

 

she forgot i slipped her panties 

off while on the couch

 

they helped me make it through 

the night

 

Bio: J.J. Campbell (1976 - ?) was raised by wolves yet managed to graduate high school with honors. He's been widely published over the years, most recently at The Beatnik Cowboy, Synchronized Chaos, The Rye Whiskey Review, Horror Sleaze Trash and Misfit Magazine. You can find him most days on his mildly entertaining blog, evil delights.https://evildelights.blogspot.com