Merridawn Duckler – In a Thrift Shop in Denver

In a Thrift Shop in Denver

An old guy walked by, farting in a thrift shop in Denver.

I missed my father, so I started to follow him.

What people give away! Srsly. Bobble-less heads, rejected ornaments,

a blanket with a hole chewed in it.


Meanwhile that guy pppffst out what the Greeks thought

was how gods spoke to us with each step.

All morning I’d been stuck in a group reading the bible.

One woman wore a laminated thing around her neck that said


Please Speak Clearly! I kid you not.

I wanted one that said Warning: I’m An Asshole!

for that one autodidact, grinding his rancid opinions in

a Tupperware. The baby Rabbi whispered: God responds to our tears.


A young, anguished fellow replied: My father told me not to cry

at bullies, it eggs them on, his voice choked. But then Dad said: OK, cry.

Outside clouds over the Rockies, gray, pink and radiant, gather sky corners like the hem

of a robe, over the unknowable cleft on that farting guy in the Arc Thrift.

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He feels bad for denying his body

to the ones that do not want it.

His hands stay in his pockets.

His lips open only to speak.

Every part of him feels the sacrifice.

Every woman in the club

doesn’t notice that he’s there.

He keeps his eye on the men

who do surrender to their longing.

The other sex assign themselves

to each and every one

of these unabashed lotharios.

He despises how the way they abase themselves.

No way he’d demean himself

by asking another to dance.

His soul is pure.

His conscience, a fountain of clarity.

If any sin tonight,

it won’t be on his account.

When the place closes,

he goes home alone again.

“Did you have a good time?”

asks his mother.

He had an unblemished time.

He feels bad for thinking that’s good.


Erren Geraud Kelly – BROKE OFF LIKE TRUMP

Broke Off Like Trump

an old hippie sits

on the street in


they stopped him

because of a joint


they  used probable cause

to search his truck

and found a .45

they took  him in

though he had a gun permit

the hippie yelled for hours

about a trumped-up charge


another football player

takes a knee in the shadow

of the american flag

when questioned by the

media for his actions

he explained ” i’m just a pawn

in the white man’s game,” though he


in the past about being ” broke

off like trump ”


in brooklyn, i once worked on a

moving job on christmas eve

we had to pack up a mom

and 4 kids, cos they fell

four months behind

i told my co-worker

it was the foulest thing

a person could do

but her neighbor bailed her out

the woman told her, she’d

love to point her .38

at the face of old mister trump


the headlines read like orwellian declarations

like muhammad ali knocking out

sonny liston

” The Donald,” grabs life  by

the  pussy

he stands with his trophy wife yelling

” i shook up the world…”

this is the penitence we’ll  pay

for not appreciating Obama


i wonder could i spend a

few years, not saying the word

” Trump?”


an interracial couple

boards a greyhound bus

for montreal

they dont know when they’ll

be coming back

but they know love trumps


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JOEY NICOLETTI – Motherfucking Jeopardy at The Gypsy Parlor Café and Bar

Motherfucking Jeopardy at The Gypsy Parlor Café and Bar

Hayburner on tap. Todd, the bar owner, turns up

the TV’s volume: It’s time


for Jeopardy. “Drink and play, Balls,”

he commands. All questions must be shouted


at the TV, as well as preceded

by the phrase, “What is motherfucking.”


Todd clears his throat, then demonstrates:

“What is motherfucking Donkey Punch?


What is motherfucking Enceladus?

What is motherfucking Hiram


Ulysses Grant?” A Daily Double. Tequila shots are on

the house, as long as the Jeopardy contestant bets all


of his or her money, and asks the right question. Not tonight.

Todd shakes his head. The people seated at the bar boo


and hiss. The bartenders laugh as they mix

and pour drinks. Another Hayburner for me.


“That guy has no guts, Balls,” Todd bellows. “Absolutely no

motherfucking testicles.”


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