Saturday, September 30, 2017

a place in my mind

there's a place in my mind
where the flowers grow wild
I'd dance there for hours when I was a child
I go to that place when I feel all alone
that place with the flowers is where I feel home

I'd lie in the grass and stare at the sky
pictures in my mind of the clouds that pass by
the vines all around would grow over my body
and cover my eyes like the dark that surrounds me

when I breathe in the air the sweet sounds of harmony
the ground that rumbles so softly beneath me
nobody can come to this place in my mind
this place is too precious for those of your kind

--Riesa McCumsey 

Sunday, September 24, 2017

Found In-Box Poem

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--John Grey

Sunday, September 17, 2017


but better days have come

            i wipe the sweat

            smell piss on my knuckles

            abortion residue

            drips down my leg

            dogs will piss on my grave

i’m coming into a moon

            full of pock marks

            jealous old lantern

            lights my night

            lights my route

            down rockaway blvd

            into blue-black alleys

            where i give 20 dollar blowjobs

and in the morning i see Rico at the newsstand

            he gives me free smokes

            tells me to get some money to my kids

            who live with my mother

            or my sister

            maybe even a foster fondler

            who will rip little wombs open


            i need my smack

            i need this pipe

            my lover

            my healer

            i smoke to God

            smoke to the moon

            and forget every crab corroding my body

            every pimp

            that yanked fist fulls of hair from my head

            forget the Siph

            the Gonorrhea

            the HIV

 lead me not into temptation

            i have done only evil

            it fires my peacepipe

            i inhale over and over

            over and over

            i wake up on the street corner

            in the back seat of a car

            in my lice infested bed

            want more

            can’t not want
--Donna Dallas

Sunday, September 10, 2017

The News at Six A.M.

It's six A.M. 
I boil the kettle 
and prepare my
coffee, strong 
no sugar, a dark
brooding concoction, 
stirring, entwined in 
a mad ballet dance 
with a spoon, destine
never to be silver.


On the television the 
news anchors speak of
unimaginable suffering,
they seem to have a blood 
lust in their eyes. 

Blood lust


Modern day gladiators

Gladiators tucked safely 
behind shiny new laptop

And seated like Roman 
emperors upon a leather
covered throne, their courtroom,
the pomp of brightly lit news 

The lower ranks, take to the 
battlefield of urban blood 

Reporters crowing at the 
blood shed rising, in the 
hissing sun, a new day comes
kicking and screaming into 

The Paranas prepare to feast,
sharping fangs, a feast of blood
and meat, of meat and blood.

"Let's go! Let's go!" the reporters

"Andddd weee are  

"Live on location,
at the scene of the crime!"

The reporters

seem to be describing the 
latest action / thriller movie
as they speak through their
smugness and slimy smirks.

The reporters

seem to be chanting into my 
living room, staring straight into
my own lust for blood and death.

"Death is interesting, death fuels
our ratings! Give us death! Give us
blood!" "Give us pain, suffering, war,
street riots and misery!" 

Cameras cut from the steely eyed 
reporter and ensuing carnage upon
the battlefields behind him 

"Now back to you."

The reporters in the studio all seem 
to agree in between quick glances 
struck between them, 


"Death by violence is so exciting!"
"Our ratings must be skyrocketing!"

and so it goes on and on,
a vicious cycle, where will
it end?

The reporters on the morning news  
make pathetic attempts at cloaking 
the grisly scenes, with their hollow 
words of 



"So very sad" 


I can see the twinkling of their eyes
blood lust and glistening sparks dancing, 
married, ambitions set high. 

I can just read their thoughts now

"Local news now, world news here I come!"
As they speak of the people 
that have been burned alive 
in mobile homes, drowned in 
floods, and shot and killed in 
convenience store robberies.

I can just read their thoughts now

"Yes it's a dirty job, but someone has too
report it." 

"Sigh, just another day at the office, mmmm 
donuts and coffee sound so good right now."

I sigh, drink my dark coffee for the same 
cup that I do everyday, and click off the 
blood bath on the morning news at 6 A.M. 

Yes it's a dirty life, but someone has to
report it.
--Wayne Russell