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