Wednesday, March 20, 2013

Men Sent Off Into Space

it was the year they sent men off into space
not to travel to the moon or Mars, rather
to journey the chasm between deafened ears
brains spilled wholesale into sinkholes
that swallowed the crenellated gray masses whole
some time after women burned their bras and
draftees flamed the fires with their draft cards
created a magic potion that showered one with fortitude
the other with hollowness and intemperate indifference

elephantine weight lifted from them, they
stripped themselves to roam the streets forlorn
in lumberjack shirts and droopy pants,
buttockless bumpkins in their colorful BVDs
astronauts of an earth without dreams,
thumbed clods fixated on monitors and screens
watching feckless selves meander inane highways
their own space

devoid of Aristotle and Archimedes
ancient medicinals for atrophying minds
now narcoleptic apes who deposit semen in jars
that year when descendancy laid a black shroud
on the peoplekind-carnival that
paid obeisance to sharing rhythms
instead, backseat beasts relegated to the earth
the others to missions beyond the stars.

--Sy Roth

Thursday, March 14, 2013


don't  scream
against forbidden unspeakable 
daily life takes over

raise me, take me, 
feed me, show me
Baby's daily demands

camouflaging the one detail that rages in the turbulent conjugal bed
the bites on the arms that imprison me, melt him
the intensifying caresses rape us, the writhing hiding my pain
hides his pleasure 
slowly removing the hand that trespassed and the invasion of the injurious look of sex
over and over and over 

streaming beneath the cover of the washed sheets
rewinding and reviewing 
watching it unfold raw
and somehow now flowing...
...the screaming...streaming

--Montes DeRey

Saturday, March 9, 2013

Two By Bethany Zelent


These fucking breasts have condemned me

Forced to relinquish my dignity.

                Bitch, whore, wife
                Love of my life

I live where thoughts are a sin.

My barren soul consumed from within

Holy matrimony, my ass.

                Kneel, suck, spit
                Pray it be quick

I live where thoughts are a sin.

Forgotten in this godforsaken kitchen

Tidy after the children.

                  is godliness

I live where thoughts are a sin.

Exploring the Female Orgasm
No. No. I have a headache.
Clothes depart swiftly.
His breath accelerates.
I match its intensity.
Entering the physiological climax.
Trapped Underneath.
I feel the condemnation of missionaries.
He finishes and collapses onto me.
I stare into the distance, imagining what groceries I need.

Thursday, March 7, 2013


tea leaves
and dissolving sugar
fall into a half moon
in the bottom 
of my mug,
slipping into ceramic trenches
like soldiers 
dressed in camouflage 
with grenades 
and fingers
folded around 

--Emily Ramser

Monday, March 4, 2013


The whole memory of it is breasts:
the baby trying to clamp on, head bobbing

around the flesh, I help her find
each warm nipple, holding her head

in one palm, her bottom
in the other. I told no one

of her delivery. How suddenly
she was there, belonging

to me. I was some kind of whore
a loveless woman, myself.

She was five pounds and thirteen ounces:
too small. I kept forgetting to feed her.

None of it was as it should be;
I was sorry the whole time.

A half family and somebody's joke.
She sucked through the whole dream.

--Jennifer Raha