*love letter, for the girl in the rift* by: yossarian hunter

can we just this once have it not be about you, just this goddamned once can it not be about you, can it not be about, can it not ,can it be about letting me sleep lengthwise just one goddamn time is that too much to ask it’s been four years & some change since I lost you in that maze…

there is one, I think she’s Marla’s daughter all grown. I have nothing to base this on, there is no science none of that matters with my little bubble girl at my side, whispering answers to questions I’ve yet to voice …

when finally I thought to, I asked her “is there anything I should be asking you” & I don’t know if she’s Marla’s daughter or just something that smells like you but I know she loves me, you can bank on that,I can tell by the way she kissed the air right next to my cheek as she floated over to perch in the place where my lap would normally be…

but there’s one named Bram there’s always Bram stay away Bram I saw what you did last night & she’s not mine but she could be for a minute & oh why’d you do that Bram why oh why oh why oh holymotherjesusfuck why the fuck did you do that?..

a finger that wasn’t a finger but some sort of needle shiny and a killer of shiny things a not for shooting drugs or sewing stars into flags needle but just perfect if perfect is the word it was just fucking perfect for sticking in my bubble girl’s lovely iridescent head & he killed her before she could speak of the things that needed asking that rotten goddamn vampire left her a giant deflated mess in my lap my misplaced lap where all she ever wanted was to sit & answer me questions I never thought to ask & I was already mad at him for the previous night’s episode in which he ate my geometry so I poked him in the chest snarling

”I saw what you did motherfucker, ain’t you got some off to fuck” & oddly enough he did yep he fucked right off I only wish he hadn’t turned out the lights before he did. it’s been damn near five years sleeping diagonal & I just wanted to get lengthwise for a night maybe two…

can we just once, just goddamned once, let this not be about you?..

Meth Lab Radio Show, ft. Newamba, Frankie Metro, and Yossarian Hunter

Listen to internet radio with Newamba on Blog Talk Radio

Yossarian Hunter's House

bat. shit. crazy.

we knew she was bat-shit crazy from the get-go, but that don’t get ya kicked outta the house ‘round here. hell, if ya ain’t a little fucked-up we might not even let ya in.

she came over with a twelve pack. an hour later we was wonderin’ why she didn’t just bring a case or two, instead of makin’ us drive to the store for a re-up. six beers into the new case she dropped her drawers & pissed in the middle of the kitchen floor.

after she cleaned herself up, she went out to her car. came back in with a big-ass diaper, put it on & crashed out on the couch ‘til mornin’.

bat. shit. crazy.

next time she came over she brought plenty to start off with. about eighteen or so in she asked for someone to hit ‘er. she wanted it right in the face, and she wanted it hard.

ain’t no fool gonna hit a broad right off the rail like that, but she didn’t give up. got all pissy ‘bout it, called us a bunch of fuckin’ pussies, so I decided to take one for the team. she was askin’ for it, after all.

I gave ‘er a good knock with my left, thinkin’ that’d be good enough. my twelve measly beers musta addled the ol’ brain. bitch called me a pussy again. “ya goddamn pussy, my na-na hits harder’n that.”

I clocked ‘er a good ‘un with the right. didn’t really mean to hit ‘er hard as I did, but shit happens sometimes. broke ‘er nose & blacked both eyes. them bitches was swole shut in ten minutes. she gave me a bloody kiss & said thanx.

bat. shit. crazy.

didn’t see ‘er for a couple weeks after that. she didn’t bring no beer next time, just a whiskey buzz & a bag of weed. she sat down by the fire, & asked for another lick.

I didn’t have no intention of hittin’ ‘er again, so I just kept playin’ my guitar. started into that tune with the chorus that goes “bang bang bang went frankie’s gun, he shot me down, Lucille.” first time through she cocked ‘er head kinda funny & just looked at me. I kept on playin’.

second time around her beer just barely missed my head. slung fuckin’ bud light all over my purty alvarez. I wouldn’t drink that shit for free, much less polish my two thousand dollar guitar with it. kinda pissed me off. “bitch, what the fuck is yer goddamn problem?”

“I don’t like that song.” “yeah, well no shit. lotsa people don’t like lotsa songs, but they don’t go ‘round throwin’ shit at folks.” she was getting’ damn close to earnin’ that knockout she’d been lookin’ for.

“frankie was my sister’s name. she shot herself in the head two years ago. dumb bitch, took me a month to get the blood outta the carpet. here, check this out.”

she reached down in her purse & fumbled for a minute. not findin’ what she was lookin for, she went out & rifled through her camaro, came back through the door smilin’. chunked somethin’ at me again, but this time I caught it. good thing, the goddamn thing was loaded. a smith & wesson snub nose .38. “what the fuck is this.”

“that’s frankie’s gun. & I don’t like that song.”

bat. shit. crazy.





Yossarian Hunter is a bad motherfucker from Mississippi. Read his poetry or fucking die.