Thursday, June 28, 2012


Steve Roggenbuck
Joe Vaughan
Thom James
Angela Shier
Crispin Best
Stephanie Cook
Jakob Maier
Dave Shaw
Grace Millard
Walter McKay
Heath Ison
Amelia Gillis
Santino Dela
James Ganas
Hannah O’Brien
Sarah Jean Alexander

Steve Roggenbuck

there is no need to understand what I say

My Satanic Fitness Regimen (VERY DEMONIC ,WOW MOST EVIL VIDEO!!! 666!)


god help me im not planning on geting pregnant
i have been drunk all year

a bird siting on white cardboard

windowpanes, the cardboard,
a vacuum cord we used to make sine waves in the driveway

eating a slice of white cake when a bird sings by my window

Joe Vaughn

i am quiet and drunk somewhere sending text messages in the dark

tonight i am going to be quiet and drunk

you are going to kiss things in the near distance

then i am going to send text messages to everyone
about beautiful things

people will read the text messages
then they will cry

then i am going to find a vanishing cloak
and wear it
and i am going to vanish
from everything that sees

and not even the moon will be able to see me

and the text messages will be sad text messages
and basic menial things will become beautiful

crying will become beautiful

and the sun crashing into planet earth
can be expressed in numerous, menial ways as
terrible, sad, or very beautiful

and even a hole in my trousers
can not be seen
when there is no-one left anywhere
to see things at all

(facebook comment by Sam Rae)

(words from a facebook comment by sam rae)

("wow i didn't know it was raining")

23:52 p.m. (also i am officially 19 years old now very rare, boosted, jacked, in love with life and thank you for journeying with me all of you, beautiful friends, and i love you all)

there is an iron cast bottle in my hand
i look at it with my right eye
and think “i’m serious”
beneath the quick, standing fan
smiling into facebook chat
like a fast star

when i say “i’m optimistic”
i mean “i have not given up faith
on our potential to exist
and love each other
and everything too”

i am 19 years old in like 8 minutes
shy bubbles on the surface
of the iron cast bottle
quote the mamas and the papas
then morrissey

and i look at your hands and you look
at my face
and “you can never be in love”
seems like a myth

and i’m eating birthday cake early
like 8 minutes before my 19th birthday
and it’s beautiful
and beneath the quick, standing fan
mapped out dust constellations
whisper in a way that suggests
“do not give up faith
on our potential”
and “love each other
and everything too”

rewind, rewind

hello youp it’s 13:24 p.m. on a fryday and we’re beginning, or we’re haf way thru this awsome journey thru the possum roads and the whale sea. there are dolphins and sharks and plankton and green lights and i am already missing you two tiems. they say the feeling is “the sadness of dead albatross,” the languor of sad animals that arent extinct yet. well im missing youp a third tiem. we are alive, we are alive in the dolphin storm, and sometimes thsi is the saddest thing, th saddest light since sadness etself

and i dont even remember only that “you were very beautiful” and when we spoke i thought “thsi is the world” and “there must be god.” or “fate” bcos things seemed to be in their right place a fever i havnt had since the wirld began {thsi is waht a heart attack must feil like}

in 1993 oh my god i dont know at all i want to be like a wet rib on an operating stand. i want to rewind until u cant go back further until u can see the sun start, i want that christ, i turnd myself into a tree and now i am a part of the sad happy ocean sand jesus chist this

is the sadness of albatrosses! i want to cry into the trackpad “rewind” but tiem is kicking me now kicking me hardly in this movei, this is the movie, thsi is the real lif

and you want to get ovir this you cant and you try and you cant and you try and you cant and thsi is it, the best failure yet, the best failure since the sun starts

well jesus christ i lop youp

its over it’s 13:24 p.m. on a fryday just past lonch and we’re beginning, or we’re haf way thru this awsome journey thru the possum roads and the whale sea

and this is th best failure i have ever echievd

damn damn damn damn i lop yiup

Thom James

improvised poem 2 “i am the love child of sylvia plath and ted hughes”

great look what you have done now
you have made the fucking squid multiply into a thousand beings
and now it is going to kill us all

i will run upstairs
i will shout:
and sylvia plath and ted hughes will look at me
and i will say
they will look at me
pat me on the back
and give me praise for my artistic merit

and then go back to being depressed and writing about animals
wow i have more imagination than the both of them

improvised poem 1 “fucking stupid hair quiff”

wow, ok, imagine we are in the middle ages :)
we’re just sitting down
i would be over half of my average life expectancy
when people lived to like, 32.

i would have had my mid-life stupid thing by now :)
i would have bought cars and tailored suits

but because this is the middle ages
i would buy an old car like,
a saxo or something :(

i would tell my other half
“stop it”
“i am a father to 8 off springs”
“i shall have my fun”
“i will talk to the next door neighbour if i want”

see ya i need to graze some cows now

Angela Shier

(collaborative poem by Angela Shier and James Ganas)

("another poem" published in have u seen my whale #1

i will hug you until you throw up
and keep hugging you

("nightnight" published in screaming seahorse #2

Crispin Best

(excerpt from "A Child Climbs Out of the Top of My Skull" published at Robot Melon, issue 7

The top part of my head comes off and that beanstalk from Super Mario starts growing out of it and it goes up up up and when you climb up the beanstalk you find that at the top it's just clouds and there are no boxes or gold coins or power-ups or anything so you have to jump and fall all the way back down to Earth but that's OK because the worst that will happen is your hat will almost come off and then land back on your head again.

The top part of my head comes off and is immediately replaced by another top part of my head which comes off and is immediately replaced by another top part and so on until eventually you get bored and remember you arranged to see your cousin at the planetarium today and when you go to the planetarium it's just fine but nothing more than that.

The top part of my head comes off and you see a tiny hand and a child climbs up out of my skull and gasps for air and then hauls itself up and out and jumps down to the ground and looks up at you and dares you to kick it in the head and you really think about it for a second but decide it's probably a bad idea, then the child starts doing really bad cartwheels and you feel bad for it and then you kick the child.

(excerpt from "macbook"

(excerpt from "Go Ninja Go" published at Pangur Ban Party

April O’Neil

April O’Neil is doing sit-ups on the floor of her living room. She is wearing a yellow sweatsuit.

There is a soap opera on the TV.

A boy is kissing a girl on the TV.

April stops doing sit-ups and watches

The boy on the TV looks very serious and says,

- Happy zero anniversary.

April laughs.

April does some more sit-ups.

A girl on the TV is getting kidnapped now.

A lady on the TV is really drunk now.

A man on the TV is crying and shouting now.

"i bring you this poem by bmx"

(opening lines from "I’M SO HAPPIE I COULD DIET" published in Pop Serial #3

welcome to our life together

oh surprise: i am a dog

i am a naked sort of dog for you

touch my front with yours

then put me in my business suit

Stephanie Cook

("I don't want to die" from Stephanie's ebook "a printed book: titled a book on the internet"

(selections from Stephanie's twitter and facebook statuses, edited by me)

"accept it and keep going"

"the suffering you allow into yourself through other people can be alleviated through love as well if you will manifest it to be. to relieve people is to relieve you and love conquers all. that is it that is all there is. is you and love. and whatever you make of this right now so let it go and be happy because i love you"

"if the dishes are dirty you should either wash them or get the fuck out of there and never look back"

"never sleeping again goodmorning i love you wake up goodmorning i love you wake up"

"feed me dead things and i will burn over and over i am on fire"

"right now is a good time to start being happy"

"if you were unaware of this moment, don't worry! here is another"

"wooo i am alive"

"shapeshifting into a dog"

"shapeshifter dog"

"i am inside the dog"


Jakob Maier

(excerpts from “May” ebook

may 2 2012
now that i am somewhere quiet
i think that i will go ahead
and say something ive been thinking
for the past few seconds

may 6 2012
the warm sidewalk is my home now
i slip through the cracks in the concrete
and whisper to my parents over the phone
if you can share a bathroom with 5 people
you have room for one more

may 16 2012
where are all my fingers
and all my toes
when i want to count
into the middle of the night
and all the way back too

may 20 2012
i missed the super moon because of the clouds
i missed the fiery eclipse because of the clouds
right now i am missing you because of the clouds

may 22 2012
i am finishing with big things
i am finished with other things
i finish small things daily
if you start me you will never finish

may 31 2012
freshman year of high school i received the junior varsity basketball team hustle award
it is important that you know this about me

Dave Shaw

(excerpts from “Less Of Everything” ebook, published at Nap Magazine

Anxiety reads about thirty lines of The Canterbury Tales for his next class and then stops to think “fuck” in all capital letters.


Anxiety drinks from a glass that is mostly vodka and ice. “I feel sort of fucked. I think I am experiencing anhedonia.”

Paul tells him to shut up and throws a cigarette butt at him.


Later Indifference and Anxiety are watching a movie and lying on Indifference’s bed.

The movie is from 1935 and is supposed to be a horror movie. Indifference moves her head so it is touching Anxiety’s head and Anxiety traces the tips of his fingers down Indifference’s arm.

An actress in the movie says “I’ve been up all night... With dead people!” They laugh and Anxiety says he is going to say that on Twitter later. “This is good,” says Indifference, “I like this.”


“Are you telling me he is a murderer AND a horticulturalist?”


Later Anxiety is sitting in Subway and reading a book of short stories by Breece D’J Pancake. He texts Indifference and says he is looking forward to tonight. Indifference texts back lyrics to a song by Pepper Rabbit. The employees at Subway speak to each other in Spanish. Anxiety thinks about maybe buying a new sweater. Subway is almost entirely empty. Anxiety rubs his head absently and flips a page of his book.


Indifference puts her nose against Anxiety’s chin. She smiles and says she wants to go out and have a cigarette. They go outside and Indifference asks a large man with a beard and well maintained hair if she can borrow a lighter. The large man leans over and lights her cigarette for her. The large man addresses Anxiety as ‘son’ and tells him he should always carry a lighter. The large man asks if Indifference and Anxiety are together or what. Anxiety says ‘noooo?’ and Indifference makes a noise and looks at Anxiety and Anxiety feels a little confused and embarrassed.

“Always carry a lighter, brother,” says the large man, as he walks away.

("on a bullet train..." published at

on a bullet train going past Mount Fuji and here is you like an idiot not looking out the window at Mount Fuji

He was the younger brother

sometimes we would worry about him

and the things we would find in his bedroom
or in his Internet browser history

and just say to ourselves
‘why not just delete your browser history’

he used to talk about how the moon and the sun were binary opposites

we never said anything

but like


the moon means nothing to the sun

who cares

just a bunch of cosmic-ass bullshit

"this is your life now" ebook

Grace Millard

you might remember me, cautious in the
walking stick of your big hands
i am inside the supermarket counting
clockwise the way of my feet and i
can feel the stare of a former looking-lover

i dont not look into his eye for they are the thins
they reach through the canned soup display and weave a path
passed over-parched greens and i can still
see the smoke blow through your hair
even when i write chemistry equations long lived on my arm

i feel the scented candle sky open upon a newly cut crack in the cement
and i push a swerving cart over to you
dingy in my too-big shorts and plastic laugh
i will ask you for the time and you will say it is not your time yet, darling

twenty five scents to fill up my love cups and big eyes
in the reflection of the grinding finds inside of a watermelon daydream
sweep the floor right after my feet have touched the ground, angel
i become worthy in the worry free wormed up apple graveyard

i will still love you in a way that is cloudy and clammy
the hand on a number 2 i let you peruse my skin
but like the meat section i am still not the rare bird you are looking for 

i am upset tha t
thisss  is n ot my skin and
you are very beautiful and
i am makeing you a lil nest in the Crooked of my shoulder blades 
i am crying for a million different

‘you’ ses

i am tear dropping into the (river lake creek )
creak creak my joints

mmmmmmmmmmm MM

o seamonster sweetheart
let me kiss you in the great lakes

and let me kiss you on the bridges
to every other county
you can kiss me on the forehead bc i think
Michigan is a metaphor for love

(i grab hold of the Earth, She does not mind)
(she grabs hold of your heart one m,ore time —
              i only mind a little) (i have you, i think, and i believe i can hurt you in a better way) …

i am whispering thank you thank you thank you (always always lets us
       always Be strange) 


um i am beautiful people
i will be okay even if i get sad tonight
i will probably be very sad at 1:17 am tonight
i think you are so beautiful
my brain keeps flipping the sane switch
off on off on off on off on off on off o   n
i want to puke
no i dont thats bad i want to be happy
i want to be happy around you
i want to be kissing everyone
romantically and unromantic
(on off on off on off on o  f     f)
i look ugly today but i am not sad about it
indifferent toward my appearance because i am an alien
i’ve made up my own u.f.o. language
these human words are oppressive:
awkward, nerd, crazy, bitch, soda.
please send me and invite to ur bday
i love you please understand i hope
i am not clingy i am just enthusiastic about your existence

do u want to hug me
i want to curl up inside of you
inside your literal lungs
i want to actually breathe you
strangle me with clotted love arteries
i cry at romantic comedies
bc i am not a part of you
at least not yet
at least we could set a time and place
for the acquirement of your new
heart valve (it is actually me)
(    )
i am your absolute pacemaker 
i am the graceful faker of
your assigned beat taker 

i want to kiss you in the middle of an ocean
the atlantic (the salt evaporates)
and then not speak for a month
also the only sign language i could know is ‘thank you’

i will breathe little spokenings into the concaves
of a careful wrist, require the jumbles of my bumbling
to be recorded on a four thousand square foot
fortress. its not excess if you are standing
on a mountain top, bleeding from the beauty

i will forgo the wishes and drop you into a well
of tiny tears that i cried for all the last pages of all the books
and you shook me off and you crooked and looked ahead
but the dead lights won’t turn on anymore, honey,
the starving can’t warn me of the losing part of my cloudy eyes

you are my blindspot i think
like you disappear from view and i am left
sitting in pews of empty fields or maybe aisle ten of walmart
but please don’t beg me to start the howling because i will
and i won’t let go until someone punches me in the throat  

Walter Mackey

(excerpts from the e-book "sad plaid"  

your face is pressed against 
the computer screen and 
my face is pressed against 
the computer screen and 
somehow we are kissing 
even though a familiar 
ocean lies between us

august 6th, 2010

dear diary
i saw sigur rós play last night at kaff akureyri
and when jónsi began to sing
i started to cry
because i knew that you would only hear his voice
through the busted speakers of your car
because you told me that you could never afford to leave the country
and my jeans and dreams and life was wild
but at the end of the night
when i was walking home
i saw a single red feather on the street
that jónsi had tucked behind his ear
and in a drunken revelation
i knew he dropped it for me
so i picked it up and brought it home
just for you

("Possibly, Maybe" by Walter Mackey)

tim jones-yelvington


You see, the best part of working in a photo lab is the feeling you get that you are not alone.  You know people.  You know entire families.  You share their intimate moments and details with them and you become part of their family.  You celebrate their birthdays, their weddings, their new pets, their old pets, their sex games, their 50th wedding anniversaries, their fishing trips, their trips to Cancun, their trips to nowhere at all, their pictures of their feet, their pictures of their hands, face, eyes, lips.    It feels easy to blend into their photographs and become a little snippet of their 4 x 6 lives.  Most people don’t realize that their film will tell a story, paint a picture of a stranger to a stranger.  We’re not supposed to really look at the photos, we’re supposed to be fast, efficient, develop the product and get it to the customer in less than one hour.  But I look.  I stare.  I make friends with the nameless faces.

There’s Mrs. Cavour, who only manages to take pictures of her cats—Emily and Charlotte, named after her two favourite writers, of course.  It’s clear that she was never married, or maybe she killed her husband.  I’ve never seen her hair not in a messy bun.  She reeks of cat piss.  I want to tell her it’s okay, but I don’t think she understands human words.  Once, I swear I saw her open a can of cat food in the pet aisle and taste-test it.  I had a nightmare once that Mrs. Cavour stopped coming in with her cat photos because she had died and her dead body was being slowly consumed by her starving cats.  I can see this becoming a reality in the next five-to-six years.

("selected published tweets about kissing" published in screaming seahorse #5

selected published tweets about kissing by walter mackey

kiss mee in the light of the moon kiss me for the fifrst time on the lip

kiss me in your twin siezed bed squeeze me with ur arms until i snap in2 like a twig

kiss me while we are playin super nintendo kiss me while i am effing donkey kong and im rollin in the jungle

kiss me while we listen 2 death cab for cutie in ur back porch and it is 4 am and you are sad

kiss me while we watch a movie and i put my arm around you but retract it cuz im too nervous but then u grab my arm in put it around u

kiss me while u are drunk with ur googly eyes n kiss me while u are holdin ur cell phne between ur tits

kissing me while u are peeing on the toilet kiss me whil you are sittin there and letting it all hang out

kiss me a million times but dont forget to kiss me a million times more

when u kiss me it feels like there is a fish stuck on my lips but in reality you are the fish and your lips feel good on my lips

when u kiss me i feel like the moon is coming closer to earth and earth is growing arms and hugging the moon and the moon is smiling

when u kiss me it is like a vhs tape that is like rly broken and u gotta fix the tracking but u cant find the remote so u just watch it

when i kiss u i kiss u with all of my heart and with my lips and i make sure u feel the same thing i feel which is love

when we kiss it is like a million hamsters are jumping and runnig on a wheel and the wheel is in the middle of a field and not a cage

when i kiss you a dolphin gives birth to a unicorn every single time without fail and nobody documents it because they are too busy kissing

when i kiss u it feels like i climb mt everest but when i am not kissing u it feels like i am dying on mt everest

when i kiss u i want to tell the world but the world dont wanna hear it so i just make a facebook status about it and it gets like 7 likes

the next time i kiss u i will take a pic on my tmobile sidekick and i will send it to my email and i will post it on tumblr ok

leave me a picture comment on myspace and kiss me seven times in real life when u see me

kiss me while we eat turkey at thanksgiving but close ur mouth cuz i am vegetarian and i only eat tofurkey and there is turkey in ur mouth

kiss me at christmas time because i am the gift wrapped up under the tree in the tiniest box and i have a bow and i am suffocating in here

kiss me under a tree and stay there for 63 years and then the tree will grow around us and we will be kissing for the longest time ever

Heath Ison

(opening lines from "The Cut-Up Man" published at Metazen

Rushing in blindly like

eager, blunt languages

that penetrate the blank

canvas like a riot.

Sometimes, a minor bit

of force is required.

("My Soul May Be An Enigma But My Veins Are Like Barbed Wire" 
published at Banango Street #1

My soul may be an enigma…

whispering, faintly, it only tunes to static.
I tend to create poetry driving in my car with
the fear of dazing off into oncoming traffic, or
with the fear of hitting a cracked-out suicidal hobo.
Either or I would claim both as a rewarding
accomplishment to say I have reached
a new transcendental profoundness.
Sidereal eyes peek into cosmic closets.
I saw a Jesus in there with an upside-down
frown and he was outfitting a mannequin with
a pink bow tie.
Your tongues taste like Jolly Ranchers and
you are all colorfully rotoscoped.

…but my veins are like barbed-wire.

You messaged me today.
Yes, I know I’m a worthless human being.
Hey, I know I’m a piece of shit, so no need
to remind me as far as that goes.
I’d just as soon count my cancers backwards
on my fingers than to be murdered softly
by silence.
I run like a Flock of Seagulls, but
those tyrannical beasts outfitted in black
business suits still bombard me. They
ravage me politely, laugh, and then
strut away while tossing me a white
t-shirt with black printed words that
say, Paranoid Much?


Amelia Gillis

have you ever experienced unrequited love?



because everyone is blackness until someone takes the blindfold off

"a collage of phrases taken from the Gillis facebook page"

i want to eat your thoughts

until they physically fall out of me

i want to think of all emotions

until they are on a sign in front of you

i want you to stop at all costs

when you see the sign

and tear it to shreds before me

so that i finally get a taste

of not being kissed

Santino Dela

(facebook status)

strange, yet incredibly fulgent creatures gallop through the forests of our mind in perfect time when suddenly, everything seems divine, we have realized the secrets of retaining our 'beginners mind' ~namaste~

(poem from Santino's poetry ebook "kiss me like i'm a baby"

kiss me like i'm a baby

give birth to a new universe
open my eyes because i am blind
to everything that is beautiful
tear my heart apart with your lies
plugged ears can't hear the city cry
fly me around i am your personal spaceship
destroy all of my organs with your radiation
i will be patient
waiting for the end of my world
breaking with convention
to hell with the rules
the new schools
will be free
(at least
we can

i am haveing fun over here haha wow

i hope you’re having as much fun as i’m haveing
but if you looked at my facial expression you wouldn’t know
what i was thinking inside my truely reinforced brain container
let me tell you about the time i saved a kids life
does my life matter
tell me something about the mind
i don’t understand
all the time
tell me who you are
and why you are
explain the brain
and the rain
tell me why
i need to know
tell me now
i need to go

(excerpts from "these are the 100 poems of varied length that I wrote today")

no. 2
having things inside of your ears is weird
having ears that hear the world around you freaks me out
i am freaking out because i am surrounded by freaks and outcasts
i am a freak and an outcast surrounded by the world
the world is listening to me listen to it
i felt the wind against my face
i felt feelings i will never talk about
to anyone ever again
i rapped a freestyle that i have forgotten
i lived in the moment briefly
i was briefly just being
i practiced not thinking
it felt transcendental
true awareness
or something

no. 5
writing 100 poems is hard work
but some idiot has to do it
i am that idiot
someone shoot my foot with a red flare

no. 7
a poem cannot be ‘stupid’ or ‘dumb’
you can either ‘like’ it or ‘not like’ it
choose wisely
lest ye miss
the point
of life

no. 13
this was a great decision
we can do great things when we try
the ego attached to you will only live once
think about what you want to say and then say it
we don’t need no thought control
on this penmanship hehe

no. 16
silly kids chase their dreams
boring people give up and never try
i will never live up to my own expectations for myself
i set the bar so high i know i will never reach it hehe
my main goal in life is to be a wolf
this is impossible but it is my goal
and you can’t tell me how to life my lief
yolo because steve roggenbuck told me so

no. 24
writing poems is my way of celebrating with the world that i am not masturbating furiously or sobbing so hard that my eyes fall out and in fact writing poems is my way of celebrating my own existence and the peculiarties of my own personality

no. 29
real publishers don’t wanna sign me
because i am in the streets
i hang out with hood rats
and drug addicts
i roam the bleak wasteland
of post-modern capitalism
and with a sly smile
i flip off a cop

no. 30
no ant has ever died by falling
ants are impervious to death by falling
you could throw an ant off the empire state building
and it would survive
hehe wow i wish i was an ant

no. 43
let the wind touch you
let your face breathe
let your eyes blink
be okay with that
everything is ok

no. 65
writing 65 poems in a row is a good way to make yourself not want to write or read anything else for the rest of the day

no. 66
there is an art to being persistent
despite everything
despite the voices
despite the haters
i write in spite
of myself

no. 80
my mind is empty
it is ready
for anything
it is open
to anything

no. 88
how many poems can one person write in a day
before they self-destruct
leaving behind sentence fragments
vague and declarative statements
and pieces of forgotten thoughts

no. 94
i have been writing a lot of words
because i am trying to express something intangible and fleeting
i can’t capture it with words
words are like prison for ideas
words are fragile like tears
words can and do fail me
these words can jail me
a word expresses frailty

no. 99
wow i have come a long way
in one day

James Ganas


Hannah O'Brien

("blank" published in have u seen my whale #1

I remember when you used to swing round
to paint the clouds and pull the hair from the ground.
You used to listen to the marble and watch the old men
wipe the money from their eyes and laugh.
You used to wait until the last,
you loved the way it snatched at opaque
and how its fingers fell silent when it slept.
You’d watch as the park
would carefully undo its wooden necklace
and stroll.
You loved the woollen tresses
and the sharp sirens they clutched,
hiding from the fire.
You used to play compassion.
You’d strum it with such conviction
that the raven on the back of my neck would cry
leave me, leave me.
So you did.
You’re fed up of evergreen stories and playing with time.
You don’t want to live in a canvas house
or run your steel gloves through the sand on my arms.
You wish to cut the silence my fingers sew
with scissors
and you want to grow your hair.
You want to close your piercing blues and fall.
You don’t like steam or water biscuits.
And I don’t want you anymore.

Mrs Thomas

“Hi Mrs Thomas, how are you?”

“Orr, ‘iya luv, I’m alri’ thanks, ‘ad a bitta trouble down the doctors earlier mind, been ‘avin jip with my ear like.”

“Aw, there’s a shame. How’s your hearing?”

“Oh alri’ luv, s’tidy enough, I put a few rollers in only last night, makes the werld uh difference dun ih? S’usually so frizzy in this weather.”

“…Yes Mrs Thomas, it’s lovely. Do you want a bag for these?”

“Wha’sah luv? Do I know Aggie Rees? Oh aye, she’s ‘ad er baybee. Bit of an odd one, not gonna lie. It’s powerful fat and gorran ‘ead like an October cabbage. Bet its mother’s finding it terrible ‘eavy. Feels fer ‘er I does.”

“Yeah, must be hard for her. Any cash back?”

“Nah, she’s not ‘ad trouble with rash this time round, thank ‘eavens. ‘Er last two must’ve cost ‘er a small fortune in Sudocrem, not cheap these days either is it?”

“No, you’re right there Mrs Thomas. That’ll be ten pound and a penny please.”

“Yeah, I’m sure Ted’ll be round in a short while luv, doubt he’ll bring Jenny though, she’s bed bound these days, not been the same since ‘er ‘ip packed in ‘as she? Poor thing. No point tryin’ to talk to Ted though luv, ‘is hyearin’s going, ‘e won’t be able to understand a single werd you say.”

“Alright Mrs Thomas, here’s your change. Thanks a lot.”

“Aw thanks luv, see you again like, tarrah!”

It's Pouring

And crying won’t help the dye streak from your eyes.
And screaming won’t take the bite.
And when wrinkles crush your skin
and your hair gives up to sleep,
and your pockets of age are brimmed,
stop polishing crusted names because
your lines rest on empted hands.
And you scrape yourself back
into the pouring pouring rain
with sanded down knees
and nails that were hammered in too deep.
And your mouth scratches your cheeks into a smile
and you stand soaking.
In the pouring pouring rain.

Sarah Jean Alexander

(excerpt from "3 poems about a food tray, a cigarette, and cats" 
published in have u seen my whale


a teenage boy
throws his half smoked cigarette
out of the passenger side window
from his friend’s pickup truck.

i am a 12-year-old girl
with my 13-year old best friend.
i pick up the half smoked cigarette,
i take a drag and pose at my best friend,
hand on hip
hip jutting out
arm cocked
like it’s broken.

“check me out, babe.”

i feel cool.

("WHERE DO U LIVE" published in imgaypress 

(excerpt from Sarah’s ebook “I imagine you in your house, cleaning your chest.” 

I will google street view your address

You sent me your address in confidence that I
would send you something nice. I will, but first,
I will google your address. I will google map your
address. I will google street view your address. I
will pick up the little cartoon man icon and place
him on the street in front of your house. I will look
at the mailbox. I imagine looking inside of the
mailbox to see how your name is spelled on the
envelope. I will look at your front door.

I imagine showing up on your front doorstep. I
don't knock. I stare at your front door and count
the cracks, finger the brass knocker, look into the
keyhole, look into the peephole, trace the frame,
count my splinters.

I imagine that this is my door now that we are a
family, you and I. I imagine carrying 7 bags of
groceries on my two arms and fidgeting with my
keys to open the door. I fumble and drop the keys.
I squat down slowly, balancing all 7 bags, and pick
up the keys using only 2 fingers. I imagine going
back to my car to get the 20-pound box of cat litter.
I imagine our cat.

I imagine you inside your shower. I imagine you in
your house, cleaning your chest. You clean your
stomach. You don't spend enough time cleaning
your feet. I imagine your toothbrush has soft
bristles. I can feel these bristles now; I am
imagining your toothbrush in my mouth. I taste


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