A Geriatric PDF To Sex by Scott Simmons

You wanna know how your getting old?

It's whenever you shit your pants every time after you get up.

Or  you actually forgot where your actually dick is.

Heres a tip for you:

No amount of fiber can cure verbal diarrhea. 

Scott Simmons is a friendly extraterrestrial who enjoys to cuddle with strangers to in order spread his space rabies in hopes of destroying our plane of existence because he was on Team Jacob and he always will be no matter what you say to him. Also if you are having any sexual relations please feel free to send him instructional video tapes you produce to his mobile P.O. Box.  

Blondi. By Wayne F. Burke

putting the stick to Eva Braun

last night, her

head banging the head-board of the

bed, legs of the

bed lifting and

thumping the floor:

"Ja! Ja! Ja!" Eva said.

Suddenly, the door swung open and

Shitler's dog ran in

and bit me on the ass--

"No Blondi!"Eva screamed. "Bad dog!"

I hopped off and

Blondi hopped on:

As I left

i heard the bed

start thumping

again.

Wayne F. Burke's poetry has been widely published online and in print. He has published six full-length poetry collections, most recently DIFLUCAN (BareBack Press, 2019). He lives in the Pine Tree State.

Now and Then by Puma Perl

Now: Where are my glasses, where are my other glasses, I can’t find the house keys, did I leave them in the door, oh there they are, oh no, where are the car keys, they’re not on the hook, they’re not in my bag, I lost them, how do I replace them, wait, check the jacket, I feel them, ok that’s a relief, money, driver’s license, credit card, it might rain, I need my book, lock the door, ring for the elevator, forgot my lipstick, 13 flights, 2 doors, I didn’t know it was this windy, 2 doors, 13 flights, get scarf and hat, do I have enough money, yeah, 13 flights, 2 doors, did I lock the apartment door? should I go back up again?, where’s my phone, I think I lost it, no I have it, did I remember to charge it? what else did I forget?

Everything finally in order. I don’t even want to go anymore.

Then: Door slam locks behind me, down 5 flights, got the keys and some change, hair swings free.

Nothing matters, no destination, whatever I want may happen, whatever I need fits in my front pocket.

Puma Perl is a poet and writer, with five solo collections in print. The most recent is Birthdays Before and After (Beyond Baroque Books, 2019.) She is the producer/creator of Puma’s  Pandemonium, which brings spoken word together with rock and roll, and she performs regularly with her band Puma Perl and Friends. She’s received three New York Press Association awards in recognition of her journalism, and is the recipient of the 2016 Acker Award in the category of writing.

Photo, Dina Regine

Surprise I'm an Asshole! by Scott Simmons

She asked me once
“Do you have any fetishes?”

Yeah I’m a sadomasochist wasn’t it obvious?

Considering I actually spent time talking to your dumbass.
Seriously with your dull personality fuck nipple clamps!

Oh wait did you just want the rest of my list?

There was silence and soon our relationship was over.

I guess I gotta find someone else to make me miserable now.

Scott Simmons is a retired Electronic Skin Flute player in the jazz/hardcore gangsta rap band called The Ron Murphy & Crystal Meth experience, who sold a grand total of 3 copies throughout their time together in the early 1920s. After this Scott Simmons developed an irrational phobia of being in any kind of hotel room, and shit stained pants. He can now be found in the city of night lights known as Go Fuck yourself Oklahoma creating invisible paintings for imaginary people in his head.

Puking On Your Doorstep by John Patrick Robbins

I thought I would share my views on love.

So I puked on your steps on my way back from the bar.
And pissed in your bushes just for good measure.

I hope this reaffirms how much I think love is the most bullshit concept of them all.
Of course you had no clue I was stalking you.

Remind me to kill you next week.

 John Patrick Robbins 

Actually died weeks ago and Is now being played by members of the Frat.

It's all a great conspiracy as Coyote was assassinated by the illuminati.

He would want to be driven insane by fellow writers even in death.

Cheers.

A Sweaty Ball Gag for King Tex. By Ryan Quinn Flanagan

DON’T DO ALL THOSE PODCASTS!

EVEN IF YOU ARE JUST FILLING IN.

CLICK THAT EMPTY GUN CHAMBER LIKE YOU DO

WHEN YOU TALK TO US.

TELL THEM ABOUT THE MASTER RACE

AND ALL THOSE SEX ROBOTS FROM SUBMISISVE QUEBEC

THAT ALWAYS BREAK DOWN JUST WHEN THE ALAMO 

NEEDS THEM MOST.

RUN WITH YOUR CRAZY AS THOUGH THE MANY VOICES

IN YOUR HEAD ARE AN OLYMPIC SPORT.

PISS ON SANTA ANNA’S GRAVE AS THE RIGHTFUL KING OF TEXAS.

LET THE OTHER 49 STATES LINE UP TO WHIP YOU

IN STRAIGHT SUCESSION.

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.

Exteriors by Alyssa Trivett

I am already used
to the exteriors here.
I was hoping my shoes would change into a
warm color as I
stepped outside in
kitchen coffee footprints,
but it is afternoon and the sun is pouring down on us.

Alyssa Trivett is a wandering soul from the Midwest. When not working two jobs, she chirps down coffee while scrawling lines. Her work has appeared in many places, but most recently at Ex Ex Lit, and Duane's PoeTree site.