Murder The Light by Ludwig Von Killsmith

Brutality is filing income taxes with a pen made from of your own entrails.
Or listening to three Nickleback albums back to back.

As Ariana Grande once said “Let me Bathe in the damned souls of your children”

There is truly no better scent than the piles of rotten gore covering sesame street.
And nothing so beautiful as the cannibalistic feasts of Leave It To Beaver.

Always push yourself to understand the blackest depths of black.

Ludwig is the harvester of death and lead guitarist for many bands such as Slaughter The Innocent, Rotting Corpse Fire, and Dismembered Gore. His guitar sounds like the terrified screams of children and his poetry has sent many people straight into the burning fires of hell.

The Importance of Poetry by Bruce Hodder

I wrote it and the sun came up.
I read it and I healed the sick.
I published it and raised the dead.
I woke alone, bad breath, limp dick.

Bruce Hodder lives with Michelle in Northampton, the most statistically average town in England. He has been published in quite a few magazines over the years, most recently ‘Academy of Heart and mind’ and ‘Winedrunk Sidewalk’.

Men Who Sit Down To Pee. By Rathnar Kilbane

               

Are untrustworthy much like women .

It's like a man who doesn't kill and feast upon his victims flesh or dream of having sex with horses .

Man and stead must be one .

I once almost lost my life at the battle of lollapalooza.

A true warrior never takes his hand from his sword .

He maintains a firm grip much like a woman does upon her dishes and empty headed dreams .

I piss fire from Odin's snake always standing .

And wipe my arse with the severed hands of my victims.

Never trust a man who pisses sitting down or a fifteen brown eyed demon from hydra .

These words will serve you well .

Chapter from a Dummies Guide To Battles

Rathnar Kilbane 

Is the poet laureate of Iceland 

His work has appeared upon many cave walls and other fine journals as .

The Wolves Anus Review , Warlords and Whenches Qauterley , The Hot Iron Review, Sword Sallowers Journal, The Dragons Teet Magazine, The New Yorker 

He is a icon of Iceland and philosopher .

Medicinal Cocaine by Scott Simmons

I’m a writer in his 20’s with a moderately sized dick that watches Winnie The Pooh themed porn made in the 1970’s by a secret collection of pregnant male nurses.

So how am I not a credible source of information for your lovely head brain?
It is scientifically proven that all facts are supposed to be fun not true.

And I’m completely sick of you critics denying my philosophy of a cosmological Jello slowly consuming the entirety of Billy Ray Cyrus in tight Jeans.

Now go away and just learn not to read asshole.

 

                    Scott Shithead Simmons


Is finally no longer under house arrest .
And finally out of the State of Texas .
Scott enjoys many hobbies like jello wrestling at the biker bar and is banned from most Zoo's for reasons we cannot comment on .


Scott loves you all so hopefully you haven't sent him your actual phone numbers .

UTB is not responsible for Scott Simmons I mean really we all got issues .

The Spin by John D Robinson

Days spin by in fragments of
trivial concerns, of worries,
conflicts, employment and
unemployment, of finding and
keeping and losing love,
of losses and let-downs,
a joy or happiness glimpsed
just for a moment, days spin
by in splinters of sunshine
and hunger, rain and
intoxication and sacrifice,
cold and miserable times of
hopelessness but there is
always something to grip
onto, something that
shadows your heart, a force
that drives us onwards as
days spin by in drugs and
alcohol, music, art, philosophy
theology and sociology and
most of the time we’re
leaning against the ropes,
preparing for the next
assault, no matter how big
or small, it will need attention,
we take a breather, wondering
what the fuck it’s all about
before being swamped by the
days that spin by.

John D Robinson is a UK poet: hundreds of his poems have appeared in small press zines and online literary journals His published solo chapbooks are

‘Cowboy Hats & Railways’ (Scars Press 2016)   scars.tv/

‘When You Hear The Bell, There’s Nowhere To Hide’ (Holy&intoxicated Publications 2016   sold out)

‘An Outlaw In The Making’  (Scars Publications 2017)

‘Hitting Home’  (Iron Lung Press 2018  2nd edition)   ironlungpress.bigcartel.com/about-iron–lung–press

‘In Pursuit Of  Shadows’  (Analog Submission Press 2018  sold out)  www.analogsubmission.com

‘Echoes Of Diablo’  (Concrete Meat Press 2018)  adrianmanning.wixsite.com/concretemeatpress

Too Many Drinks Ago’  (Paper & Ink Zine Publications) http://www.etsy.com/uk/shop/PaperAndInkZine

Pushing Away The Hours    2018   www.lulu.com/.../john-d-robinson/pushing-away-the-hours/.../product-23872337.html 

‎ ‘Hang In There’      (Uncollected Press  2019    USA)  therawartreview.com

caught in it. By Jonathan Hine

we sat in my

parked car

& something

came over her

she tried to

warn me

to stay away

from her

yet i let her

do with me

what she

would,

& she did

& i paid

a price

that i can

never

pay

again

Jonathan Hine’s work has recently appeared in Duane’s PoeTree, Horror Sleaze Trash, Record Magazine and Midnight Lane Boutique. He has forthcoming poetry in Academy of the Heart and Mind.

Passing of the Torch. by Doc Sigerson

Hardly anyone smokes that brand 

but the Korea vet likes his straights

and sadly notes ahead of him

a gangly lad clutching pocket

change to buy some flavored blunts

and all that’s really there is a squeak

and a wisp of smoke and what 

can you really expect from flouride 

in the water and government 

vaccines but puffs of smoke

drifting out the door to the street.

Doc Sigerson lives in the Seattle area. He is a military veteran, works in retail, and leads a sedate life. He has had the wonderful fortune of having his published work disappear when online sites lose their domain rights and the terrific good luck to have his printed work fade to obscurity when those publishers would rather buy cannabis than cough up contributor copies.

Photography Lessons by Moe Lester

If there’s one thing I know it’s the boys at U.T.B. Work hard but play even harder.
So I sat on a branch outside of their outside showers with my 35mm camera.

I didn’t get the best shots but eh it was good enough for me to sell online.
And that Canadian sure had a nice juicy tight little ass.

The biggest cock in poetry also sure didn’t me disappoint either.
Fuck the only one that was a solid 0 out of 10 was that Shithead asshole.

Now if there’s one thing I love about my work it’s that smell of stale ejaculant on someone’s bed sheets or tities or whatever.

Moe Lester is a Sex Offender with several years of experience and he has been voted the best pervert of poetry in 2004 by Sir Scott Pilgrim.  He is also a professional critic and reviewer at several credited publications such as pornhub, redtube, and xhamster.

I COULD’VE STAYED HOME. by Brian Rihlmann

exactly two seconds

after the waves subsided
(and maybe even before that)
i looked at her lying there
with her eyes closed
head turned to one side
on the pillow

and thought
i’ve been robbed
i could’ve saved 200 bucks
stayed home and whacked off

but isn’t every
long anticipated event
just like that?

the new car
the vacation
the reunion with old friends

expectations
slash our sails
and the wind blows in vain

the chase itself
is the climax
the kill merely
a denouement

maybe that’s why men
if they live long enough
satisfy themselves
by flirting
and nothing more

but usually they’re dead
by then

Brian Rihlmann was born in NJ, and currently lives in Reno, NV. He writes mostly semi autobiographical, confessional free verse, much of it on the so-called "grittier" side.  Folk poetry...for folks.  He has been published in Constellate Magazine, Poppy Road Review, and has an upcoming piece in The American Journal Of Poetry.

Dumb by Osmosis by John Doyle

Now, we both know your boy isn't going to quieten down unless you take more drastic action,
so stop saying hush, and so insipidly,
I guessed by the 49th to-curling time it wasn't working and so should you.
You wear a Broncos jersey, but I know you really aren't that dumb -
and your boy, how old now? 5, 6? is probably ready to depart that pram,
and move on up to solids -
though he's got a Broncos jersey on too,
maybe you really are a little dumb,
it shouldn't have taken me 49 attempts to get that -
maybe I'm the one who's a little dumb,
dumb by fucking osmosis, though, it seems

John Doyle became a Mod again in the summer of 2017 to fight off his impending mid-life crisis; whether this has been a success remains to be seen. He has has two collections published to date, A Stirring at Dusk in 2017, and Songs for Boys Called Wendell Gomez in 2018, both on PSKI's Porch.

He is based in Maynooth, County Kildare, Ireland. All he asks is that you leave your guns at the door and tie up your horses before your enter.

Scam By Night by John Patrick Robbins

He snapped a picture of himself at the gym then sat upon his ass and started playing the game.

Counting the likes and drinking in the delusion of so called false fame.

A hot young thing sent him a picture she was bad in all the right ways.

She could talk just the right amount of shit.
She used emojis like a teenage girl and had his imagination running wild.

He slipped in the restroom sent her a picture of his dick.

He waited for something equally satisfying in return.

They played the game, playing with themselves.

He wondered why she could never do more than text.

He was just one of many sending pictures to some old man alone on a Saturday night.

Cheap thrills and happy endings were one in the same.
And if only the jackass at the gym knew his vision of happiness, was more of a nightmare than wet dream.

Well maybe his ego wouldn't be ever so soaring.

She said sent him message saying goodnight and she loved him.
He went home that night pounded his wife imagining it was her.

As his wife probably was thinking of someone else too.

The old pervert was thankful for fake pics of tight young bodies with huge fake tits.

It's truly a twisted world in which we live.

Cheers

Coyote is a beautiful creature seldom caught outside of in his natural habitat of a bar room where he researches the philosophical nature of supper big titology.  He has been compared to Ariana Grande and has inspired many K-pop bands to have satanic orgies with mythical woodland creatures of all stripes. If you feel the need to send Coyote naked pictures then please send them to his assistant Shithead's email at blueslover98@gmail.com 

POOP THROUGH THE MAIL! by Ryan Quinn Flanagan

She tells me
that once we reach fifty
we have to poop on a stick.
What?, I say,
I’m not doing that.
You have to, she says,
they mail you these three cards
with accompanying sticks
and you reach down into the toilet
when you are done
and smear some poop on the stick first
and then smear that to each of the
three cards
then date it and mail it off.
To who?,
I demand.
To a testing lab, she says,
they test for all the big diseases
and for polyps or a bleeding
colon…
POOP THROUGH THE MAIL!,
I holler.
Yes, she laughs,
poop through the mail.
Then she tells me that blood
in your feces is called “Occult Blood”
which makes me think of satanic
sacrifice
and giant chalices of Jesus
juice.

 Ryan Quinn Flanagan is a male gigolo for hire.  Presently residing along the sunny shores of Guantanamo Bay, Cuba where he spends his days drinking discount Tequila and accusing chemtrails of being "sky farts."  His work can be found both in print and online in such joints as: The Rye Whiskey Review, The Dope Fiend Daily, Outlaw Poetry Network, Horror Sleaze Trash, and Under The Bleachers.

The One Thing that Keeps Me from Having an Affair . . . by Ethan Goffman

is that it would violate everything I believe in
and bring great suffering to those I love
and shame upon myself.

Still James Bond
Bill Clinton and
others of their ilk
had a point.
Why not sleep with a thousand beautiful women
experience what they have to offer
learn the crannies and rhythms of their bodies
the musky smells
their moods and shifting dreams
the intimate details of their homes their jewelry
the deodorants and perfumes that infuse their skin
mingled with their sweet-and-sour sweat.

Why not
Learn the intimate histories of a thousand cultures
experience a thousand flavors
tarragon, wild mint, jalapeno, cardamom, ginger, salt and pepper
Kenyan, Salvadoran, Balinese, Inuit, Narnian
(Tiger Woods was boring,
blonde after blonde after blonde after blonde).

Why not
mingle intimately with all the world
and beyond.

Of course, I’m no Bond.
If I did attempt to stray
I would just humiliate myself.

Best to stick with the familiar and true
it takes a lifetime and more to know.

Ethan Goffman accidentally

became a poet by tagging along with his wife, the far more talented, harder

working, and prettier Marianne Szlyk, to poetry workshops.  He is still not sure how, but somehow his poems have

appeared in BlazeVox, Mad

Swirl, Madness Muse, Ramingo’s

Porch, and Setu.

$5 Cum Dumpster by Ryan Quinn Flanagan

Standing out by the back entrance to this bar

in the Soo

he checked his phone

until anyone tried to walk past:

pussy.

If anyone turned back,

he threw his arms out and yelled:

what?

Those with girls got it worse:

$5 cum dumpster.

But no one would take the Pepsi Challenge.

So that he went to a nearby public bathroom

along the esplanade

and pulled up all the toilets.

Punching out the mirrors

for their glass,

and then

some.

 Ryan Quinn Flanagan is a male gigolo for hire. Presently residing along the sunny shores of Guantanamo Bay, Cuba where he spends his days drinking discount Tequila and accusing chemtrails of being "sky farts." His work can be found both in print and online in such joints as: The Rye Whiskey Review, The Dope Fiend Daily, Outlaw Poetry Network, Horror Sleaze Trash, and Under The Bleachers.

Only Skinvelope Deep by Scott Simmons

There are a few things I’ve learned in life.

The first is that microwave rays are just the devil’s way of touching your ding a ling.
Because idle hands are choking the chicken and churning the butter.

Secondly I exist in an alternative universe during the early 2000’s where in Japan methamphetamines grow inside oxygen masks on inflatable palm trees.

Finally auto-erotic affixation is cool and you should teach your kids how to do it too.
So why won’t you date me anymore?

Scott Simmons is a young girl from the Eli Young Band with hopes and dreams of summoning the Jonas brothers to join the cult that he started in his bedroom. His days in retirement are often spent jacking off to stranger's flip flops and The Andy Griffith Show.

Interview With Rich Flared

Question 1: Mr Rich Flared what do you think of Taylor Swaft holding the universal heavy weight poetry championship belt?

Answer:
First let me tell you kid I just got off a lear jet with two half naked flight attendants who wanted to experience the mule high club.

And after we landed they thought they been to Heaven Woo!

As far as little miss thing holding the gold.
She holding something ten times heavier last night.

And she was begging me not to leave this morning bit that's the way it is every morning.
Waking up looking at the nature boy Woo!

Now what's the next question.

Question 2: What can your fans expect during the next poetmania?

Answer:
Let me tell you me.and the four horsemen are going to ride into Houston.

Sipping Champagne hitting on wild women.
We are taking over.
Because gold and the Nature boy go hand in hand.


Question 3: Do you have any messages for your rivals?

Answer:
You can hate all day long.
But I'm the one men envy and the women want.

I'm the cock of the walk limousine riding jet flying comps dividing son of a gun and I can go all night sweetheart woo.

Styling and profiling.
Hey I don't mind being hated cause those same guys will be sitting at home having a TV dinner when their old lady is feeding us grapes as we lay naked on a bear skin rug wooo!

Question 4: How do you handle the hordes of ravenous women attacking your house?

Answer:
Let me tell you Scotty the Beatles may have had less woman running down behind them than old slick Rich.

I find them hiding in my hotel room.
It's why I rent the penthouse.

And go to the hottest clubs and tell the women Space Mountain is officially open.

Line up hold tight and plan on getting off when I say so woo.

It's no easy task being the man.
Hell I no it's no easy task just being this close to the man.

But calm yourself you little geek it's hard to witness a walking art exhibit.

Wooooo!

Question 5: As the perfect human being what advice can you offer us mortals?

Answer:
Well brother it's simple never try to walk a mile in my Italian leather twenty thousand dollars shoes.

Cause to be the man you have to beat the man.

Wooo.

Question 6: Is it true that your biceps are so powerful they can actually stop a bullet?

Answer: 
let me tell you my strength is up there with the Greek gods themselves fuck Hercules.
I take sand pour some grains between my but cheeks and produce diamonds with how hard I can squeeze.

Question 7: Do you have any concerns about facing off with Tay Tay?

Answer:
We had no holds barred session last night and although it was day time she was seeing stars.

Space mountain had her laying floor begging for more woo.

Next question.

Question 8: How would you describe your private jet and your several private islands?

Answer:
I live the life and enjoy the perks when I fly into Canada visit friend Ryan we shut down the bars and it becomes a state of emergency.

They have parades women pass out.
The hospitals overload.

I just at Michael's in Kansas City spending money like water just to look as beautiful as I do woo!

If you're scared get in my back pocket cause we are going nonstop.

This party is for the finest women, the finest drugs woo and I am God's gift to the earth woo.

Question 9: Is it hard to be the world’s most beautiful man?

Answer:
It's never a burden to be beautiful I know the men are all jealous but who can blame them?
Wooo!

Question 10: What is the secret to the universe?

Answer:
To party 24/7 live it up in fact we are flying into Canada now Ontario here we come woo Scotty grab my bags cause it's time to style and profile.

You're going to.age ten years in ten hours wooo.

The Population Boom. By Ian Copestick

Whenever I hear about the population
Of the world, now they always say
7 billion but 30 years ago when I was at school
Then it was always 6. Somehow, when my
Back was turned, another billion just
Sprung up, out of nowhere. Just think of it
So as well as all of the people who have died
In that time, another 1000000000000
Extra have arrived. Someone has been
Having a hell of a lot of sex
Well, it certainly wasn't me !

Ian Lewis Copestick is a 46 year old writer ( I prefer that term to poet ) from Stoke on Trent, England. I spend most of my life sitting,  thinking then sometimes writing. I have been published in Anti Heroin Chic, the Dope Fiend Daily, Outlaw Poetry, Synchronized Chaos, the Rye Whiskey Review, Medusa's Kitchen and Horror, Sleaze, Trash.

Out of the Blue. By Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozábal

What has the doctor been smoking?

Out of the blue,

he wants to make an example of me.

I beg to differ with his assessment.

My mind is far from broken.

Sometimes I hear a voice.

It might as well be the wind.

I don't want to spend my time

locked up for no good reason.

If they had a bar in here,

maybe I would stick around.

My thoughts are my own thoughts.

No one in this world has the right

to dissect my pain and anguish.

Why can't they make this place fun?

Open up a bar in this place

and dispense beers instead of pills.

They are even making this place

a non-smoking facility.

What is the world coming to?

Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozábal, born in Mexico, lives in Southern California, and works in the mental health field 

in Los Angeles. His first book of poems, Raw Materials, was published by Pygmy Forest Press. His other poetry books, broadsides, 

and chapbooks, have been published by Alternating Current Press, Deadbeat Press, Kendra Steiner Editions, New American Imagist, 

New Polish Beat, Poet's Democracy, and Ten Pages Press (e-book). Online  and in print, my poems have appeared in As It Ought To Be, 

Ariel Chart, Blue Collar Review, and Mad Swirl, and The Dope Fiend Daily.