Poetry

Poetry
John D. Robinson
She had me pinned to the mattress, twice my size and weight, I had no chance: she removed her upper clothing and her huge breasts fell towards my face and then she fell forwards passing-out instantly, snoring like a fucking chain-saw: I took the opportunity to crawl out from beneath her like a dazed spider: it was 4am, I drank a beer...

Poetry
Zachary Knox
(partially lecithin) through people’s disguises there lie more heart than brain which is more or less the same thing; they’re up in arms again and demand change yet become afraid when change came why are you always too tall or too small said the mad...

Poetry
Louise M. Hart
In Memoriam, John Clare (1793-1864) . I am Van Gogh’s emasculated ear Severed to diminish feeling, I died before I became real Comprised of stories no one wanted to hear And rendered out of mode, like an old fashioned picture book Disproportionate in words and imagery When I...

Poetry
Kevin Higgins
for and entirely inspired by Quincy Lehr . We will pay homeless people to follow poet and critic Matthias Wetruder. And not just into drug-stores, dry-cleaners, and taxi-cabs (though there too) but also into Japanese restaurants where said homeless person will sit next table vociferously demanding, as will be his...

Poetry
Des Mannay
Did you see her at the conference? She throttled Theresa May . Being worn, an appendage on that clammy wrist, was an affront to Frida’s bisexuality, disability, blood red Communism. . Poltergeist Frida ripped words off walls the way she tore through life; with eyes like fire. . Elsewhere— ‘Diego Rivera Reloaded’, painted a new mural with a p45 on, and a laughing Frida Kahlo. Who...

Poetry
Kevin Higgins
after Jameson Fitzpatrick . Oppression is a brown woman, who used to be beige and called Gerald, until she discovered it an unfortunate name for a girl, taking up no seats on the bus because she prefers to travel in the luggage compartment, despite always buying at least three tickets. . It is also...

Poetry
Kevin Higgins
Each morning around four in the afternoon a crypt cracks opens and out you crawl, the shades Michael Hutchence’s valet leant you bravely fighting off the viciously sarcastic Irish sun. . Today you’ll be asked, by a last minute replacement for Dave Fanning, what it was like to fondle...

Poetry
Lana F. Call
the way my spine contorts like a bricklayer building a cathedral does this shape please you Lord . sexless arches these mounds of pious limestone laid at the feet of man or God . shaped men made in man’s image not from bone or Adam’s apple shaped I am this frame . without...

Poetry
Daniel Galvin
Met you on the last night of America— you dived in our cab as we pulled away. . We went on the bag, some apartment block roof, sun rising white and hot. You showed me the goals you’d scored that day, mimed the sweeping boots and turns. . The drugs...