amphibi.us

the meat grinder

Shannon Peil — Wed, 10 Mar 2010 17:22:48 +0000

there was once
the proverbial
Vietnam veteran:

homeless
insane from
recollections of
naked, slaughtered
Asian bodies
always on the edge
of committing new
grisly murders

now the veterans
of Iraq and Afghanistan
come home
and it’s the same:

junkies
living under bridges
Uncle Sam used them
threw them away

and they’ll punch you
in the throat
for one wrong word

but they keep
the Empire rolling.

© Ross Vassilev, 2010

Invisible Schmuck

Shannon Peil — Tue, 09 Mar 2010 17:20:50 +0000

when I look in the mirror
I see nothing except
the backround reflection
yet they say
they can see me
its as if I was Dracula
but I live in Florida
the sunshine state
I sleep on the floor
not in a coffin
and I wish I could
turn into a bat because
I can’t always
catch the bus
I don’t drink blood
but I like bloody marys
and the only women
I can hypnotize
are the loose kind
it’s not with my eyes either
or by the way I talk
but with the drugs
and alcohol
not only that
but every woman
I’ve ever loved
has driven a stake
through my heart
so I guess it looks like
I’m not a vampire
after all
just an invisible shmuck

© Marcin J. Kuhn 2010

perspective exercise on a woman in kmart, #1

Shannon Peil — Mon, 08 Mar 2010 21:14:46 +0000

I’d bet she’s the aunt
no one likes, the
one that never sends
birthday checks, christmas
checks, not even a
card, except one of those
dollar store cards that’s
empty, and
no one displays on their
cabinets, but stuffs under
trashcan lids.

no one
sends her letters; she’s
the one they conveniently forget.
there’s just too much to do these days,

they’d say if she asked

why wasn’t I invited to the
barbeque reunion?
well, you live so far away
we wouldn’t want to inconvenience you.
not that she’d ever ask.

I wonder if she’s the woman that
turns the lights off at halloween,
or the one that might hand out
condoms to the older kids,
you never know how
young they do it now; kids
these days.

she never liked kids;
maybe that’s part of it.
she didn’t even like kids when
she was a kid.
she was the one that read
homework, and worked and
hoarded money in a
indestructable piggy.
she didn’t buy
candy.

she eats
energy bars and
mcdonalds french fries, and
when she wants some
zest, she’ll order
chinese carry out.

she
shouts when she can
talk, and whispers
when she can shout;
I really don’t care whose aunt she is,
but somehow I almost
feel sad.

© Meg Eden, 2010

The Scapular

Shannon Peil — Sun, 07 Mar 2010 08:42:39 +0000

The money debated and settled,
flipped from his wallet, tossed in her purse,
they prepare to take off.

At first thrust, she reaches up,
throws the scapular
over his shoulder, shouts

“What’s this?” He rolls off,
stares at the ceiling,
says, “Cancel the trip.”

© Donal Mahoney, 2010

[others]

don’t get any big ideas

Shannon Peil — Fri, 05 Mar 2010 19:41:36 +0000

think big.
think fright.
fear works. fear moves,
fear strangles,
fear rolls the world
around to generate
more fear.
if i want to move the world,
i’ve got to get armies,
i’ve got to get money
and satan on my side.
but satan doesn’t like me much,
he thinks i steal his thunder
with my drunk cavorting.
when i was little,
i wanted to be an emotion
maybe not pure, definitely confused,
but human–i wanted to be part of everyone.
this way i’d need no blood,
no money, no satan,
no god. all i’d need was
the tiny specks
of gold in my soul–
those flickers of afternoon,
the light in which everyone looks young,
which stirs the world to rise,
to run, to breathe.

© Zandra Ruiz, 2010

She Laughs Lustily

Shannon Peil — Thu, 04 Mar 2010 01:12:02 +0000

Like the honeybee
furious in its task
I would rip the abdomen
devour the essence of life, my own
run through
that which stands in my way

Of timeless flight
and flutterings
mid-air lovemaking
of heartbeats measured in wingspan
and anguished thrustings

I now
the honeycomb
sweetened in your haste
bathe in the efforts of your force
and fall from the sky
Bee again

Yellow then black, yellow then black
as sweet as nectar
as ripe as spring

© Dawn A. Green, 2010

[others]

Screw You Robert Frost

Shannon Peil — Wed, 03 Mar 2010 16:36:01 +0000

Two roads diverge in a yellow wood,

One looks well trod and worn

The other, scorned but good

But sadly I note, they both uphill go

So I say hell no, I’m going home.

Philosophy is for fools.

Joan Burning

Shannon Peil — Tue, 02 Mar 2010 16:21:20 +0000

A daffodil lashed
fire, anchored words.
The evil barons are singing
and she spins and spins.

The Drunk

Shannon Peil — Mon, 01 Mar 2010 16:57:23 +0000

Her beauty is poisonous.
She is growing old in the sun, weathered by black rain.
She was a death charmer with a plastic face.
Her insides were empty and haunted.
She is the doppelgänger of a saint.
Her life is chaos.
She heals people at her job.
She harms people in spare time.
She is a monster. The sad part is she knows it.
Her life is a fraud.
She stains your thoughts.
She was the only one that could eat glass and not flinch.
She had the moon in her eyes.
I knew she was my ticket to hell.
Her aura is dirt.
You don’t want her anymore.
That crazy broad will be the death of us all.
You want to kick her out.
She always does something nice to make you feel bad.
She is a gloomy Sunday.
She makes you want to drink.
You hide your wallet from her.
She is the life of the bar.

Headlights

Shannon Peil — Sun, 28 Feb 2010 16:39:32 +0000

Sure my hands grip the wheel,
anything to convince myself
I’m steering this contraption.
You sit beside me, neat as your
fingers around a cigarette,
as the coils of smoke
that rise to the ceiling,
pass through the metal.
The dashboard grins up at me
with a smorgasbord of lights,
of indicators,
nothing to tell me where I am,
just the speed of going nowhere,
how much gas i have left to get there.
Your last words zip by
like a sleeker, faster model,
shake me off course,
or shove from behind,
make me go faster
than my intentions,
then push hard against the front
like a brazen isometric
exercise in pain.
Mile after shattered mile,
another highway victim
counts his life into the statistics,
with caustic eyes,
short-circuited breath.
And here’s you staring at the road ahead,
as if you are the only one
with a right to a destination,
and me, stunned and fearful,
these nights when the deer in the headlights
is the one driving the car.

amphibi.us

the meat grinder

© Ross Vassilev, 2010

Invisible Schmuck

© Marcin J. Kuhn 2010

perspective exercise on a woman in kmart, #1

© Meg Eden, 2010

The Scapular

© Donal Mahoney, 2010

[others]

don’t get any big ideas

© Zandra Ruiz, 2010

She Laughs Lustily

© Dawn A. Green, 2010

[others]

Screw You Robert Frost

© Violette Rose-Jones, 2010

Joan Burning

© Jessica Otto, 2010

The Drunk

© Brandon S. Roy, 2010

Headlights

© John Grey, 2010