Wednesday, June 17, 2009

Eric Lawson


1 blood-stained, sliced up clown costume

3 pairs of rainbow-striped socks

1 pair of neon-yellow parachute pants (“It’s Hammer time!”)

1 pair of knee-high “fuck me” boots

1 over-sized, multi-colored sweater. A Cosby sweater!

1 pair fingerless gloves I stole from a bum

2 shredded cop uniforms (don’t ask!)

1 zebra striped sleeping bag

4 pairs of boxers, complete with skid marks

6 pack of Heineken

2 napkins with smeared phone numbers from drunken girls I bought drinks for at some local bar last night

1 blood-stained bed sheet. Gotta wrap that dead clown in something, right?

1 pair of matching tee shirts with the giant, bold letters FBF (Fuck Buddies Forever) written in glitter across the chest

1 Gin and pasta stained Twister mat

17 blood-stained rags (dying clowns just keep on bleeding!)

Your mom (MILF!)

1 formerly felony-free record


It is a clear, crisp autumn night
The curtains are tightly closed
The living room lights are turned low
My favorite late-night TV show
Makes me laugh and smile
I am alert and resting comfortably
In my favorite recliner
A fan oscillates a welcomed breeze
I lift an ice-cold Heineken from the
Coffee table to my mouth
The soothing brew eases my mind
And my thoughts drift idly
My girlfriend, ever the trooper,
Hands me a slice of pumpkin
Pie with a side of ice cream
She gives me a gentle kiss before
Settling into her book
I take another drink and ask myself
Why there aren’t greeting
Cards that cover occasions
Such as this
My girlfriend mumbles something
Rhetorical about a weekend
Getaway with friends
The wind picks up and dies down
My mind wanders randomly
I recall childhood adventures and
Silently wished that I owned
Some mementos as keepsakes
I vow to create my own greeting
Card to commemorate this
Perfect moment, here, tonight
A log turns in the fireplace and
Crackles as the glow intensifies
And just when I thought it couldn’t
Get any better, my girlfriend
Drops to her knees in front of
Me, unzips my fly, and smiles
From ear to adorable ear


In retrospect,
Mixing crack-cocaine
Into the dancing bears’
Pre-show meal
Was not wise


From wise

It was a
Poor business decision,
Morally bankrupt,
Mentally uNsOuNd

The silver lining
Is that the

a - c - r - o

b - a - t - s

Have somehow learned
To do their
Death-defying routine

Saturday, June 6, 2009

Lauren L. Kimmel


I am glad that I didn’t have to see
what she saw. Last night. The way

you love yourself, child, you’ve no need
for enemies. Lord knows the boy hurt you.

Must you finish the job? Mamas don’t
let your babies grow up. All they do

is find clever ways to cut the cord,
and send blood spattering like a silent

movie firehose, out of control. Unstoppable.
And hilarious.

Isn’t it hilarious? I could scream it, I
could clench my eyes shut and swallow

the rubbery pink ball of pain and anger and
sadness and more. I could scream red

spittle on the surface of your smooth round face
and I’d have better luck spitting at the moon.

Tuesday, June 2, 2009

Jeffry Jensen


The girls stick to a bald guy like Elmer’s glue.
Burgers buried in grease sizzle on a side street.
20 arms stretched out behind a plastic curtain
donate blood for some sex money.
While a laid-off bus driver downs his first drink,
the bald guy leans on a sticky handrail and fingers
pesos like they are being devalued on the spot.
The girls bust out laughing as they each
grab for the arm of a pressed white sailor
who has testosterone calling the shots.
Slices of yellow cheese bubble over the
horizon as the laid-off driver stumbles into
one last strip club for the night.