One Word: PROSECCO

      © Silpinwita Das

Here are five more words:

LIVE FOR THE FUCKING DAY.

I don't save my bubbly for a special occasion, boo.

Come over to favor me with a friendly fuck.

I'll pour you two glasses.

I'm generous.

Much like our girl Kali 

I collect gentleman callers.

Don't be scared.

I kill so well

you'll feel like

you're floating

in fuck ass soup.

How Do You Say Booty Call in Spanish?

I can Google that shit. 

Everything I need to know I learned in my cowboy boots

after an eviscerating job interview on Union Street.

The bus took me to the bridge.

I thought of all the suicides.

I decided not to be a cliche.

I wiped away the tears and walked the beach

and then I walked the streets

and then I rode MUNI

and then I crawled into my rented bed

on Clayton Street

and under the influence of Benadryl and beer

dreamed of the loveliest cock in the world

sliding in and out of my mouth/pussy/ass

like it was designed solely

for my distraction

and destruction.

My love is deeper than deep and lovelier

than any rose,

French or English

or otherwise.

-by Misti Rainwater-Lites

Misti Rainwater-Lites is the author of Bullshit Rodeo and several other works of fiction. She resides in San Antonio. Contact Misti at roxixmas@gmail.com. 

Photo Courtesy: Silpinwita Das

Silpinwita Das lives in Kolkata and did her Master’s from Kalabhavana, Santiniketan in Graphic art. She is currently involved in an Indian traditional textile art with natural dye called Kalamkari. She can be reached at silpinwita@gmail.com.

Bobby's Mother

      ©Scott Tammaro 2014

Scott Tammaro is 52 years old & still breathing. In between breaths he's been known to make lots of art (photos, collages, writings) that no one has really seen much of. He's mostly self-taught but did earn his BFA in Fine Arts from Youngstown State University in 2009. He's the official flaneur/jester/skypilot @ The Universe, & a right time fool zen moment lunatic and (often) an undependable clod rushing around on adrenaline running around in circles wondering if LOVE & KINDNESS is going to save the world or not. He loves candy & talks too much.

PROPERTY

      © Marko Davidović

1. 

In the light

I keep thinking about the way

you keep your thumb hooked in

the belt loop of my jeans, like you have me on

a leash, like you own me. I’m not sure I don’t like it.

2. 

In the dark

I lie on top, your skin grazes mine. I breathe

your scent, burrow in your flesh, forehead

flush against your belly, eager

mouth fellating your cock. So this is love!

3.  

In the even darker

Go ahead. Push me

down. Pin my wrists. Wedge your knees between my

thighs; pry me open. You know

you want to explore my corridor, my

antechamber, my presidential suite. There’s a basket

of fruit on my D-cup titties, Veuve Clicquot in my ‘fridge.

4. 

In the winter

You like fucking on top of the sheets, heater off,

windows open to remind us we’re still breathing. I

can see your breath, its smoke - and mirrors.

 5. 

In the cut

I keep thinking about the way

you keep me under your thumb.

“Yes,” you say. “This is love.”

And I’m not sure I don’t like it.

-by Alexis Rhone Fancher

Alexis Rhone Fancher’s work can (or soon will) be found in Rattle, The MacGuffin, Fjords Review, The Chiron Review, Good Men Project, Bloom Literary Journal, Poeticdiversity, Little Raven, This Is Poetry: Women of the Small Presses, Slipstream, The Mas Tequila Review, Broadzine!, H_NGM_N and elsewhere. She has been published in over twenty anthologies and chapbooks, both in the U.S. and abroad. She is the author of, “How I Lost My Virginity To Michael Cohen and Other Heart Stab Poems,” (Sybaritic Press, 2014.) Since 2013 Alexis has been nominated for two Pushcart Prizes and a Best of the Net award. She is poetry editor of Cultural Weekly. She and her husband, live and collaborate in a loft/studio space in downtown Los Angeles. They have a spectacular view.

Painting Courtesy: Marko Davidović

Marko Davidović was born in belgrade, 1981, finished Faculty of Applied Arts in Belgrade, 2005, in Graphic Design. Had 4 solo exhibitions and several group ones with some awards for graphic, graphic design, painting, drawing, own made font and calligraphy.

Dreaming the death of a pervert

                   © Simón Vázquez           

death was in the

men’s room reading

as i dreamt of

my dead self lying

on the cold white

porcelain floor

as the water runs

from the open faucet

my faded khaki pants

down below my knees

and cum all over the

pearly white bowl

and the employees

rush on to see

leaving their tables

flooded with phone calls

with the receptionist

almost fainting

our janitor screaming

" dead " in bangla

the bosses sneezing

glued on sales figures

together with the others

I will look at myself

laughing and say,

" what a way to go ! "

then i’ll wash and dry my

hands and drink some water

and walk back to my table

and continue threading

between hard life, sudden

death and lucid dreams

and make damn sure of

feeding the green machine.

-by Anggo Genorga

Anggo Genorga  was born and raised in the Philippines and i'm currently juggling numbers and sales figures on a telemarketing gig here in Dubai. He has a chap cookin' with Catfish McDaris & some of his poems were featured in Boston Poetry Magazine, Empty Mirrors, Mad Swirl, Piggpenn, Silver Birch Press and the recently released poetry book for benefit Verses Typhoon Yolanda : A Storm Of Filipino Poets from Meritage Press.

Painting Courtesy: "Muy Fun" by Simón Vázquez  

Simón Vázquez (Barcelona, 1979) started in the field of animation and studied at the School 9zero. But soon he turned to Arts, and  studied at Barcelona Llotja. After engaging in illustration, he led himself to painting and sculpture, and  he has been doing  exhibitions  for years  at the galleries of Spain and abroad.

Iron Jaw

      © Debdatta 'Riju' Mukherjee

he wants to spit the gum out

but I won’t let him

he’s been chewing the same piece 

for forty five minutes

but I don’t care

when he can chew it two hours

consistently I’ll let him

spit it out and put

the masticated wad

back in the freezer

until tomorrow

then he will chew on it

another two hours

there will come a time

my son will have

a jaw of iron

no punch will dissuade him

no blow render him

unconscious

he will be tough

the way I became tough

and he will thank me

eventually

-by Karl Koweski

Karl Koweski remains an enemy of the Amish, having launched peanut brittle boycotts in 12 Mennonite communties.  His poems and stories can be found here and there.  His collection of short stories Blood and Greasepaint remains available and his latest Kockblockers will be out in November.

Photo Courtesy: Debdatta 'Riju' Mukherjee

Debdatta 'Riju' Mukherjee lives in Kolkata and barely survives his insufferable job as an IT professional through poetry, photography and whiskey.

Tuk Tuk

       © Debdatta 'Riju' Mukherjee

It is

annoyingly gratifying

that

auto rides

can be

intensely erotic.

She is big,

her thighs sit

firmly against yours,

your shoulders rub

with hers,

elbow lurks

near her breasts

you wonder

if she likes

it;

to be locked

in flesh

knee to shoulder,

close

in sharp turns,

grateful for

the centri-whatever

force

which gives me more of you.

Your hair flies into

my face

Smells of shampoo

We breathe in

the same

dust and smoke,

our arms exchange

sweat

and

i hope

to make small talk.

Wish that

you wouldn't take

time,

to undress

after a drink or two

maybe talk about

a book or two

and leave me

alone

post fuck.

and then

we screech to a halt.

she pays for the ride.

her lover,

waits by the sidewalk

his t-shirt says:

"pizzatarian"

-by Debdatta 'Riju' Mukherjee

Debdatta 'Riju' Mukherjee lives in Kolkata and barely survives his insufferable job as an IT professional through poetry, photography and whiskey.

Photo Courtesy: Debdatta 'Riju' Mukherjee

Truth, Dare or Drink

                     © Jocelyne Desforges

truth was my go-to choice;

but I got into the Cuervo

and began selecting dares:

running through dorm halls

in just my underwear,

licking raspberry jelly

off of a girl's nipples,

making out with every

other player, among

many others.

the tequila was gone and

so were our minds;

I woke up the next morning

in a bed full of naked

people I didn't know:  a

girl with two cocoa nipples

peeking out from

a hot pink tube top

rested her hand across my

bare crotch, a brassiere

fashioned to my head

like a pair of goggles

a twisted assortment of

smiling vaginas and

bare bottom crack

cheeks gazed back

at me; a flaccid

uncircumcised penis

winked from above and

said "good morning"

to me in a chipmunk

voice, a vicious and

maddening hangover

brewing.

we never played that

game again.

-by Kevin Ridgeway

Kevin Ridgeway is from Southern California, where he resides with his girlfriend and their one-eyed cat.  Recent work can be found or is forthcoming in Chiron Review, Re)verb, Kleft Jaw, Mojave River Review, Illya's Honey and East Jasmine Review, among many others.  His latest chapbook of poetry, All the Rage, is now available from Electric Windmill Press.

Painting Courtesy: "Jam" by Jocelyne Desforges

Jocelyne Desforges lives in Montreal, BA in Creation from UQAM, studied at The Institute of Applied Arts of Mtl and at the Fine Arts School of Montreal. Studied painting, silkscreening, ceramics and photography.