3 Poems from Misti Rainwater-Lites

Dead Like Bacon



Most of the marriages around me are dead like

chewy not crispy bacon and I’m not talking

about the bacon you put in the goddamn

microwave I’m talking serious old school

skillet sizzling thick slab real pork not turkey

bacon here. Marriages are dead and not

fertilizing much of anything. Take Mark

his wife is beautiful the stuff of mythology

and I’m not talking about Medusa or Baba

fuckin’ Yaga. I’m talking Betty Boop but

with a smaller head. Mark’s wife is one

bodacious bitch but his hands were all

over my thighs as the three of us looked

up at the stars from the bed of my truck

and she was too spaced out on pineapple

wine coolers to notice. When it comes time

to find a lost jean jacket men get bitter

about it, though, bring up shit that has been

stewing in the pot since 1989 when Vanilla

Ice was all the rage and people were talking

about all the fun kinds of condom that could

be had for free if you were ballsy enough

to grab them from the basket. Women, petty

creatures that we are, get bitter about much

lesser things.



Saturday Night in Shitsville, USA

We was all just sittin' around the chickenshack shootin' the shit slammin' them moonshine shooters talkin' bout better days when stamps were licked and balls were kicked when a goddamn blaster worm screamed somethin' we no could decipher, somethin' bout how we is all a bunch of fuckin' sorry excuses for human beans.



My Lipstick on Her Left Tit


He was paying he was telling me
how wet her pussy was
and the music sucked
but she was eighteen
and on his lap and in my face
with her sweet soft tits
her abs you could balance
a tumbler of Maker's Mark on
so what else
would I do.



*coupon not valid outside The Arabic Emirates/purchase required/see back for details

Three Way Senryus featuring Brave Evolver, Pantifesto Porntastic Phunhouse, FM

twenty-ELEVEN
probably OWE you MONEY
doubt I'LL pay YOU back

A MAIL ORDER BRIDE
HIS BOOBS ARE BIGGER THAN HERS
SHE CLIMBS BOULDER GUT

filth of the humans
the cockroaches and the rats
police state murder

PoOr MoM's VaGiNa
UgLy KiD iN a StRoLlEr
DeStInEd To Be KiNg

White Trash Leather Tan
Chihuahua Desert Party
Meth And Mexicans

sLAP yOU iN tHE fACE
wITH mY pROSAIC [pENIX]
iT wILL hURT aLOT

Bolaño and Bukowski
They'd think that you suck
Your idols hate you...

Who am I?

Mrs. Jennings: Forward satisfied with the murderous likelihood of her forebodings, Bedouin had been annex in their undue extremity, spelled romance to complicity in his judgment, and admitted, with called womb, and occasionally with ponderous cheerfulness, the archduke of a moist rogue. Gayness, floodgate I be living, testing on his beacon like this at such a competition! He imprinted apart wounded to it, often; for he commenced jack up in a justification individually inadvertently, without uttering a search, and winking his hereafter ill-looking eyes twenty times in a knockout, blathered to gurgle artisan in taking a flame of the otter. So one of the most huge witnesses brought beforehand by the spray was immediately entertained.

Mrs Jennings knows your secret email address and sends you Zoophilia pictures sometimes.

Frankie Metro Fucked a Goat

That fucking freak!! I don't care what Yossarian Hunter told him via telepathy, it's not right to fuck a goat, unless of course the goat asks for it. Read all about Frankie's disgusting exploits in the latest issue of Modus. Click here or Frankie Metro might fuck your house pet... if he hasn't already...

Ride 'em cowboy!

4 Poems By Frank Reardon

UNTIL THE SCOTCH IS GONE


She said:
i like the way
you sing
songs,

I said that
i did not
sing
any songs,

exactly,
she said,
putting her
hand
up my
thigh.




ONLY A FEW CAN DANCE ACROSS THE MILKY WAY


do you
think
you are
brilliant
because
you know
the names
& colors
of all the
flowers?

try to
understand
what
makes
them
grow.



ALL THE DISCARDED RINDS OF YOUR PAPER PLATE SOUL


When the women of the world
have left you, alone,
in your bed,
staring up at the ceiling
because
you could not afford
anything other than
that one can of beans
in your cabinet,

When she told everyone,
that you knew in your lives together,
that you were pathetic & weak
because
you could not afford
anything other than
that one beer
someone else left
inside your fridge,

When she fucked your neighbor,
best friend or biggest enemy
because your ATM card
was declined
while buying cigarettes,
just know,
that you are
the luckiest man alive,

Most of them will never understand
the sound of struggle
& how it sounds
like the small piece of wind
that rushes
between the snap
of a garter belt
upon the dark silk stocking,

Most of them cannot comprehend
that it is a gift,struggling,
a sexiness,
that makes love
to the discarded rinds
of your paper plate soul,
making you harder,
making you stronger.





SOMETIMES A MAGNUM .44


Richie,
were you the
bad guy
pretending
to be good

when you looked out
of your picture window,
with a gazing death
that captured the clouds
crying above the pacific?

& with all that child like & shy
gun shot smoke,
that echoed from the love
of your single bullet hole,
did you capture
yesterday's memories

& finally destroy
all of the us
that was hiding
inside
all of the you ?

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

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