Sunday, November 30, 2014

remember I said this

when I kicked the
punk-assed bitch out
he cried about need and want

in the middle of one thing
the end of another
and the beginning of the rest

those days were, still
tragic and bloody
the nights, an endless shit storm

--Ag Synclair

Tuesday, November 25, 2014

Editor's Piece/Peace: First Time

First print edition OUT!

Rob Plath
Emily Ramser
Claire Phelan
Charlie Stern
April Salzano
jared lacroix
Caitlin Hoffman (me)
Photography by Kas Miller

Email w/ Subject Line ZINE ORDER if you want one/some. Include mailing address. We'll work out shipping through Paypal.

May do it the "right" way (Amazon, etc) eventually, but I'd rather not pay those fucks for anything.

Keep it visceral,


Sunday, November 23, 2014

If I Had A Son, I Would Teach Him About Evolution

I bled through
the crotch of my pants

and the Wonder Woman underwear
I bought two and a half years ago
on sale at Target

while eating
chocolate chip cookies
in my bed.

I put my hand between my thighs
to wipe away the blood
and realized, that
God had once again decided
to not put the embryo
of Jesus Junior in my womb,

leaving me free to continue
reading blog posts
tagged atheism.

--Em Ramser

Sunday, November 16, 2014

The Sharpest Knife in the World

The picture came in a box
I took it out and hung it
The box went to the backyard
Where it blew around
Till I gotta knife
From the basement
Took it outside
Where the wind blew
Like a bastard
I wrestled with the box
Put a half-nelson on it
Till it finally broke loose
And stood there glaring at me
So I waltzed it into the garage
Away from the stupid polar-ice cap wind
And sliced it into a million pieces
"What happens if I cut myself
By mistake?"
I tried not thinking about that
And hauled what was left
Of the box
To the dumpster
Still thinking about what my hands
Would look like
Then went back inside
To look at the picture I hung
It was deceased
It would be nice to give it
A proper burial
A box would come in handy
Right about now but
There was blood everywhere.

--Paul Smith

Wednesday, November 12, 2014

The Road To Happily Ever After

is bullshit,
a never-ending straightaway
that leads nowhere good.
Littered with carcasses
of frogs and fickle princes, discarded
tubes of chapstick, broken glass
slippers, the entire pathway ticks
like a timebomb until midnight,
then disappears right before your eyes. 
--A.J. Huffman

Sunday, November 9, 2014

Holding a Baby

I was tricked into the only
Time I have ever held a baby
A friend of a friend shouted
Here and took off sprinting
I was expecting to grab on
To a beer or maybe an American Spirit
Not a poop producing machine
That passed itself off
As a miniature human
I tried to hold the thing
At arm’s length, but I hadn’t
Been to the gym like I resolved to
And after about 30 seconds
My elbows started quivering
Trying to get a grip
On the morbidly obese creature
So I had to bring it to my lap
But it kept staring at me plotting
When it was going to vomit
All over my mostly clean shirt
It had already sucked the life
From one woman—infecting
Her with its parasitic motivations
So I sat it down on the ground
And tried to escape
But it kept falling over unable
To support its own bulk
And attracting unwanted attention
With its incessant wails
I cautiously extended one toe
Placed it firmly on the slobbering
Beast’s back and made
Sure it stayed upright

I guess even I have some
Maternal instinct
--Jessica Hylton

Tuesday, November 4, 2014

Surviving the Street

my name is joe
(if yer asking -
which you ain’t)
although that’s not my name
but one i’ve always thought
could fit me
as an endangered urban tortoise
whose home rat-clatters
as it scutters along the high street 


my stains and my rips
down-and-out chic 
gift wraped in this season’s black plastic 
the colour of passing
stuffed inside 
a wire cage tesco screambucket 
on maladroit wheels
incarcerating one dissipated bag full
of the tatters of yesterdays
and one bag overflowing with wild
debris of deflated bright wonder
that once shone in a child eye galaxy


the grime that dresses me
depresses me
two bin bag joe off his trolley 
forcing screambucket to cross hexed
cracks in the pavement through 
puddled reflections 
of fractured neon attractions

look away

drowned in the sound of traffic
a peripheral smudge 

an illusion 
quick step >escape >too late
i’m in yer face / rank breath
spare a quid for a cuppa mate

-P.A Levy