2 POEMS – DAVID S. POINTER

Night Vision Revisited

I’d clean the killing lens night vision
goggles
with submarine seawater, but, the
eviscerated blindness is lodged off
in the long term
low intensity conflict
brain wirings
never fully sanitized
as the world pulls warm winter covers
up over the collective mindless head
waiting for a new delicate darkness
without carnage,
without calendars,
without fair trials touching down inside
unjust economic system cyber-tent sales

~

Dreamscape Crime


Detectives
relish
pursuit,
but, if anyone
dynamites
or poisons sinkholes
as a cold case walks by,
arrest
the former
not quite forgiven
when the state needs money
after receiving individuals
incensed by mouthpieces
for the vampiric economy
needing
tailbones
for the acquisitions-avoidance
culture receiving so many
mega-judgements lacking
menace-conviction corps

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THE VALENTINE’S MOPES – LANCE GAMBRELL

Horse-girls lasso me in, and brand me a “Sore Loser.”

He had never seen a Siberian winter until she said, “I have a boyfriend.”

In the T.V. illuminated room, a bill from the gym could barely be read, “over-due notice.”


The only commercial that has ever made me cry, ended by declaring that “A diamond is forever.”


“Next year’s Valentine’s day dinner will be much better, he declared,” after pushing “2, 0, 0, start.” on the microwave key pad.

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2 POEMS – Jose Luis Oseguera

L.A. Uomo

My attention is a bowl,

Every distraction a freshly

Washed grape jumping frenzied—

Slippery in its will to explore—

Bouncing off any surface.

As when a man on Wilshire Boulevard

Unburdened his head of a Dodgers cap—

Hair oils and sweat tie-dyed

Its discolored blue—

Frisbeeing it on the grassy verge

Delineating the realm of the walking and driving,

And I worried less about whether or not

He would jerk his cock out in time

To burst on the agave leaves,

And more about the sharp

Of its needles perforating

His uncircumcised flesh, blood-gush

As teeth through grape-skin.

It came out as the rain

That falls whenever it wants to

Not went it’s most needed;

People in cars swerved, unnerved.

In my 33 and a third years

Of living in LA,

I never bothered

To spend money on rain boots.

I overheard another man

Tell his blonde girlfriend:

What else do you think people do

When they move to LA to find a job?

Before he could sip his coffee,

A cyclist zoomed by sneakily,

Too chickenshit to ride on the road.

To wonder why I care about it all—

The neglected that hides,

The hidden that wants to be forgotten,

And the forgotten that wants

Nothing more than to be noticed again—

Is my struggle to look away, and still look;

Too see what I can see, yet remain unseen.

How easy it seemed to empty

Yourself of your innermost waste

On the sidewalk for all to see—

Yet as empty as you’d walk away,

The bowl would always be full of fruit.

 

~

 

nuage un

You want me to be a good boy;

You want me to keep a secret;

You want me to just try it;

You want me to trust you completely when you completely mistrust;

You want me to choose;

You want me to be as faithful as I’ve been unfaithful;

You want me to lie to myself to live your truth;

You want me to be as bad as you;

You want me to come;

You want me to figure you out;

You want me to forgive you for things you haven’t done but will even though you know we’ve been there before;

You want me to abort preconceived notions of you;

You want me to take it;

You want me to like it;

You want me to chase after you when you’re too afraid of saying what you really think;

You want me to believe that you don’t say what you want to say because you fear regret, even though your silence hurts more than words it fails to suppress;

You want me to be as good as you think yourself to be;

You want me to be the bigger person;

You want me to accept your apologies, all your apologies regardless of how unnecessarily stupid they are;

You want me to be thankful for your all understanding, all-encompassing compassion to bypass my flaws, all of my flaws;

You want me to beg;

You want me to watch what I say;

You want me to shut up;

You want me to forget how childish you can be when it comes to playing games;

You want me to fix you with love even though you’re the one who does all the breaking;

You want me to be me;

You want me to be like you;

You want me inside of you;

You want me to be yours;

You want the me that isn’t me.

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CRUMBLING VALUES – GARY BECK

Crumbling Values Disruptions to city life are only noticed when they inconvenience people. Explosions, acts of terror, other extreme occurrences get everyone’s attention. A few try to help, some sympathize, many ignore the event a minor distraction as long as it doesn’t affect them and continue normal routines indifferent to the suffering of others.

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FEEL BETTER – DAVID BOSKI

Feel Better

“Look at my pussy,

it’ll make you feel better”

she said, as she stood

in the shower, one leg in

tub, the other up on

the ledge, her hand

parting her lips as she

smiled: a few moments

earlier I had noticed a text

come through her phone

from her dealer, picked it up

and scrolled through the

message history: she assured

me it was her friend who

had used her phone to text

him about fucking and what

not, and that she would

never cheat on me: later

that night I found out she

was lying: I thought of her pussy

but it didn’t make me feel better.

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The Mundanity of Chronic Illness – Lindsay Ballew

The Mundanity of Chronic Illness

when i say that i don’t want to live like this, it’s not an idle suicide threat

it’s just that i’m tired of my life exploding

little explosions and big explosions

not just my life, but my brain
my kidneys are fine for now, thank you
because someone (hollywood?) must think bipolar is so exciting
not the days when you can’t string three words together but go to work anyways with the other ten stuck in the cosmos
not the evenings alone at the kitchen table because you have alienated the other three
not the tremor or dizziness or running into walls or the stupid snakes

that aren’t snakes but (my doctor says) might be a tumor but it isn’t a tumor because I’ve been dealing with this shit too long
not the fear that the only things that have worked are not working
the scars on my body are not exciting
the incompetence is not exciting
the ways i’ve let everyone down – still not exciting

yesterday the phlebotomist told me her mom is taking such a high dose she doesn’t know if it’s still her mom

i didn’t say that maybe she is more herself

i didn’t say that there are no angels

no demons

no self, just

ions, synapses, protein

codes that don’t get screwed up, just passed down

which is unbelievably pointless

i want to open my brain from the base of my skull and pull out the snakes

hollywood would love it

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