Monday, July 29, 2013

Club Night

Afraid of abundance,
too long at the bottom.
blessed I stood,
bright male,
brilliance magnified.
in the inner city,
and yet,
shivering in the warm,
terrified of cash
and neon
and the women ...
anyone of them
could be the one,
and there were these
horrifying mixed drinks
that I could suddenly afford,
and the face in the mirror
behind the bar ...
no longer a child ...
I wanted to lie down,
lick the floor,
make it my home ...
I was born blue,
but now grown
whatever color
the strobe light
would have me ...
not forgetting music,
throbbing, throbbing,
so heavy on the beat,
my heart's dominatrix.

--John Grey

Thursday, July 25, 2013

Wild Beasts

it is almost unreal watching them
two on one side of the subway seat and two on the other

snorting at each other
howling so ungraciously
and taking photographs on their phones

these wild beasts of the american night

nearly all of them three-hundred pounds
in mini-skirts or corsets

their bare asses plastered to sticky seats
full of bum jizz and toddler snot

sort of human just like you

one of them looks like an ogre
with yellow flesh and red nostrils

she keeps huffing out of her wide nose
opening her wide mouth and exposing square brown teeth

she’s talking about all of the men
who are in love with her

they all want this, she says
running her thick hands down her dress

who are these men? i ask my wife
where do men like this exist?

the two who aren’t three-hundred pounds
are taking photos of each other
and spraying whore perfume

they keep kissing each other on the cheek
making like they’re going to french kiss
while the big girls eat candy out of boutique bags

as the n train rolls us across the manhattan bridge
and back into brooklyn hell

ew, you lesbians, the wild beasts chant
at their canoodling friends

and then they snort some more
take more pictures

move their fat asses on the seat
as they pop m&m’s into their mouths
and continue to talk about all of the men that want to fuck them

i imagine comatose brooklyn guidos
with death before dishonor tattooed on their arms
in need of an easy sexual fix

i hope to christ that one doesn’t spread her legs
i say to my wife
pointing at the yellow ogre

i mean i’m not a decent man
but i could use a little decency right now

or a dog catcher

whatever it will take tonight to get these cackling
wild beasts off of this train
without me seeing their underwear

and all of that glory between their legs
that they keep bragging about

get them back into whatever caged asylum they came from

until the moon goes down
and the city is safe once again

for the rest of us uglies
to keep feeling good about ourselves

--John Grochalski

Wednesday, July 24, 2013

Traces of Addiction

I wallow in the depravity you encase me in,
longing for your temporary emotional fix.
My body needs that sensual flood
that forces me back into bottomless debts.
Your physical consumption inadequately soothes,
filling me with rejected numbness
as you cover me in a blanket of blindness,
desperately trying to erase the tracks
degrading me naked.

--A.J. Huffman

Monday, July 22, 2013

Rearranged Pain

sometimes my poems about my pain aren’t polished
sometimes my pain poems come out very bad
but sometimes my poems about pain soar
sometimes everything’s arranged just right
but it’s fucking strange to distinguish between them
b/c no matter what—pain is always pain
sometimes i even prefer my very bad pain poems
when my pain even fucks up my creative judgment
& what i get is a sick knife plunged into a pile of shit

--Rob Plath

Friday, July 19, 2013

Jerry Waiting

jerry teaches checkers
to the delinquents where i work

we ride the same bus home

only we never talk

one time he asked out
my co-worker

wanted to take her for coffee

for some reason
offended her delicate sensibilities

so much so
that she threatened
to go to the administration about it

that she flashed her ring
in my face
like a diamond mace

and said
don’t he know
i’m married?

as if that mattered to a man
so clearly desperate for love
and companionship

that he was willing to risk his job

for black bodega sludge
cream and sugar
and a pretty face.

--John Grochalski