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19. Featuring: Lara Konesky


Fiona Curran: London, UK + Gloriane: California, USA + John A. Grochalski: Brooklyn, USA + Jack Ohms: Finland + Ian C Smith: Calulu, Australia + Esther de Vries: Switzerland + A D Winans: San Fransisco, USA


i’m like bloated as fuck
and my eyes are red
and i am wondering what the world
will look like when i see you
knowing what i know when it isn’t
the kind of knowing i am fond of
i am loosening my pants,
while you loosen your grip
and you are lying about my metaphors
while i consider going down on you
consider swimming across the ocean
so you can no longer reach my
emerging grin
you are using stupidity as a weapon
and i forgot the shield in my other jeans
with my brush and eye drops
and probably a little more money
i hang my pants up to dry
i forget the opening act again.
Your limbs dangle like carrots.
i bite. welcome home, motherfucker.

In the Woods

he’s such a pretty man
with pretty moods
i like to wait for him
in an un-interrupted jungle
of crass and kink
to see if we can fuck our way out
though sometimes
he doesn’t show up at all.

and i sit, and imagine
if he has thought about me,
alone in the woods,
in six inch heels,
and too much blush.


maybe she is just tired
of fucking the demons,
making them breakfast,
loaning them pussy and food
for thought
never getting repaid
he’s got the car again.
walks in, laces tied, thought
you were six but you’re closer to a,
closer to a,
the smoke is burning her eyes,
and they go from green to black
melted lashes in her tea
she sips and waits.

Your Swagger, Your Secret, Your Sauce

Oh Boo Boo, I don’t need your swagger,
your secrets, your sauce, i can’t take what you got
it all just eats my shit alive, and I am staring at my phone,
and I am trying not to say stop. FUCKING STOP.
I watch the silly skanks slither past your godliness,
wearing purple robes of whore and desperation,
and blowing out candles to fuck you in the dark.
In the light of day, vampires hide without mercy,
saving cigarettes for later on to make a mark in the evening
when they have stories to tell and something better going on.
There’s a switch we have to hit, and if you don’t, my finger is placed.
Traces circles around it, like I’m getting a bitch off, and I’m not scared
to press. And release. Don’t test. It’ll be my motherfucking treat.
Your street wise serenade has had me on my knees, but today.
Is a day of rest. A day of mourning, a day of let enough be enough
be enough, race you to the kill, but you are faster than my ass.
I give credit where credit is due. Tip my hat. All of this. For you.

Dirty Pictures

i just got finished vomiting
up your pictures in the shower
while you sat with your pants
around your ankles beating off to
an image of us in your mind,
though the computer showed some
chick getting fucked from behind
i thought it could be the salmon,
but it was probably the thought of
your dick that close to another human being.
Either way, the vomit clogged up the drain,
so now my feet smell like puke.

i wondered if you left your ring on
while your fingers were somewhere
inside my stomach and i wondered if you
made an impact on something other
than my cervix.

dilated soul compromising position.
leaks onto the bed.

i hate your fucking dirty pictures.


baby is crying again
from the corner of the room
and the sound is a little like
soda fizz and fucking, purrs so sweet,
i want to curl up
fetal position
and pop pills that calm the sick
and the insane
i’m in his room, i am feeding
off the minutes, i am getting
to know his insides,
i am traveling distances,
i am following tears, cum,
and picking apart the wall
with my bitten nails.

hold it all back.
we are

better off.

i inherited desire.
i inherited disgust.
i inherited the sober land
that he pisses on.

and i ask him to do it again.