just a nervous swimmer
making threats to capsize
cross legged eaten alive
praying acoustically so you could hear
a ship that plunges
through disaster’s eye
the harrowing digestive pit of the sea
willingly swallowed
lying under the collapsed ceiling
of
the one that crashed all around us

snow heavy on headlights
blanketing windshields with sloppy mounds
the bitter Christmas
and a night ride, cold headlights
a spelunker’s lantern
watching the masturbator on stage
his back facing the crowd
black curls like a blindfold
he smiles like someone in church
but behind his teeth something
seethes

red lipped rosy aloof
(the beautiful drunk who
I’ll write many lines)
I called you the Ouija way
but it was disconnected
Athena poured the milk you made
down your slopes and poisoned the valleys
looking back and tracing photos
wondering if you really existed at
all

walked in the humidity and
only wished I had said
nothing
realized all the time
there was no one I wanted but you,
curious feeling of being
startled awake
boots making me heavy
spent the next few weeks
swimming tirelessly upstream
proud salmon ***** that I am

these little angry blossoms only open

because you proclaim what you’ve done
like you deserve a reward.
it sours the dinner
and it spills my guts through my nostrils.

yeah I know, I know, I know
take our time, we should take out time
in those haunted gardens
behind dive bars
with sour drinks in hand
the bruises we made on each other
fading from black to yellow

yeah we should definitely take out time

letting the doubts shrink
like plastic to a flame

didn’t some old Yankee say once
that the beauty of deceit
begs to be exposed to the light of day?

I’d keep this little thing secret,
a favorite button, a cat’s eye
in my pocket to rub to remember

I only keep whistling the same **** tune
because it’s still stuck in my head, okay?
I was just hoping
someone was still willing to play games-

and run blindly in
traffic with me.

this very fall reckoned
everything loses its meaning under the
strain of redundancy.

I know this to be a perfect truth
but I still revel
in the images I keep sacred behind my eyes,

with all my autumns boiled down (a bare bone),
to a single one for me
that was warm crisp and altogether virginal-

my last one, as long as I live
for it is replayed as each monarch rests in my sight
and with each bird arrowed south-

and I tongue things spiced to remember
so I can go down with memory’s ship
willingly with collapsed and stunted lungs

tenderly warping it into something it never was
bleeding it dry of auburn reds and gold,
my attempts at keeping myself loved-
young.

but now what do those moments mean?
there have been many falls since that one,
nothing but I love yous on walls-

played back so many many times,
like warped vhs, warbling and clipping
the inherent meaning gone or completely scrambled.

While people talked about what Miley Cyrus was wearing

Ben a homeless veteran of war, had a heart attack, fell from his wheelchair
and died and people stepped over him.

While people talked about what Miley Cyrus was wearing

A forest fire burned in Yosemite National park and Sierra Nevada destroying homes, and
threatening wildlife including 200 year old redwood trees.

While people talked about what Miley Cyrus was wearing

Latonya lost her job, and in turn her apartment and in turn the custody
of her children.

While people talked about what Miley Cyrus was wearing

Yu fellated a man in a sweaty brothel who was nearly four times her age.

While people talked about what Miley Cyrus was wearing

Fukushima Daiichi Nuclear Plant leaked tons of radioactive fluid into the
Pacific.

While people talked about what Miley Cyrus was wearing

Syrian President Bashar al-Assad used chemical weapons on his own people.

While people talked about what Miley Cyrus was wearing

by yoko molotov and scott sharp

hey.
it would mean a lot to me if you came out tonight, i miss you.
I feel ****** that we havent had a lot of time together.
that our lives have grown so far in other realms
maybe its time we drink and sing and
shout for the good times the
old times and of course
the new times my
dearest pal and
best droog-
yours.
cb
B
I might
This week
Has been a spell
Of stress and masochism
My **** hurts. And my brain.
Karaoke is a great relief in many ways
However, it’s often too loud and crowded
For hangs and ketchup. The backdoor is more seductive
Lets meet at the table outside with wings, beer, and jolly bellies
Lets tell war stories. Lets milk the clock. Lets party like it’s 2003. Let’s puke.

State Fair, Kentucky 2013

by Yoko Molotov and David Willams


It’s time for the State Fair,
today is the last day of summer.

love all the animals. pet all the animals.
cook all the animals. eat all the animals.

inflatable prizes on a stick, slowly deflating,
it’s the childhood's defeat-
they are lying lifeless in the backseat.

guess your
birthday,
weight or age
within 3 days,
20lbs, or 3 years.
junk on tables for looks at-
key rings, magnets and stickers.
Formal complaints.

white people.
Starving ducklings leap and fall
while snotty babies squeal at them.
Obama, I'm a friend of Mitch.
donate 3$ to the GOP.
I fed an estranged Grandpa
roasted pecans.

country people. concrete floors.
legs. legs long and legs glossed.
Thousands of people and two thousands of crocs.
pillars of ivory, blue and dimpled.
sunburn, wife beaters, and university shirts.
(THAT'S IT, I'M TELLING MEMAW, your shirts are beautiful)
beautiful lips
and toothless maws.

half-hearted, half-heated corn dogs and overpriced
beers, I can never finish an ice cream so
I usually leave the cone lying to be
sat in.
Dead bugs in a box and bug puke in my mouth.
A salad made from blue ribbon tobacco and light bulb tomatoes.
everything smells like popcorn, **** and tradition.

Joseph's Dreamcoat worn in some nobody's county.
you're my favorite gingerbread girl.
lover's quarrels are illegal, thanks.
everyone has the right to be miserable, thanks.

bovine pet request,
dumb static and docile eyes, do they ever change?
does any of it really change?
at some point all the cows petted will be digested and shat out.

congested aisles, shoving and trampling,
the mobilized morbidly obese in carts
WWJD?
a fat stone in a brainless trout stream.
the failing pan salesman hawking his wares,
no one in attendance, wearing a headset (a real go-getter)
and holding his pan like a flag.

the really poor families come to the fair
because it's cheap entertainment,
and it's cheap tradition.
and these struggling families
trudge proudly in faded Kmart attire-
an exhibition the pretentious call
"people watching".

separating oneself from the herd of undesirables,
a pasty man
with his head awkwardly on a pillow,
trying to convince an apathetic and bloated crowd
the perfection of his product,
his head a bit like road ****.
he's selling but the
crowd walks on-on-on.


Was there more guano under the bridge or beyond the gates?

I need some good words ****** into me

or

I need to find the right lines

to right me.



traveling the tides of time

on the backs of

Bradford blossoms,



the stench of carrion nostalgia-

I heard it was the strongest

of our longings-



to become such as fossils,

to relive what were.



a million reasons to be

distracted.



a million reasons to

spread my legs-



a million reasons for the

birds to sing-



in which I cannot see

but it churns the tides anyway,



learning to love the

right way, after

being fostered by drunk brutals

or father’s in their own right-



I’ve left that decade

in a grave of lines,



lines I’ve scribed

and lines left unearthed.