Antidepressant Sex Toy
The face of Robert F. Kennedy
In the hotel lobby,
Stitched and botoxed,
Pole dancing death,
Peter Kurten in lingerie
Performing a contorted ballet on
The boulevards of vacuous persons.
Dim lit streetlight pussy
Speaking in air raid siren linguistics,
Looking up nude celebrities
With Bela Lugosi eyes, undead.
Hungry hand for hammer,
A blow to the head,
Sleaze skin shed
In an apparatus of transparent lines
Like bodies covered in lime after
The infiltration of Oradour-sur-Glane,
The orgy tears of the Seine
Lubricates the face of Janus,
The make-up smudged
On a deflowered trans.
Inviting chaos into the space
Of a savage landscape without time
I want to see her strip
On the pile of shoes and household bills,
I want to see her cavort with the pickled jars
That contains John Wayne Gacy’s brains,
Flicking the vein,
Summoning the needle
To the impervious smiles of lacerations;
A canvas, a Rorschach of child abuse,
Fantasies of flesh, nameless flesh,
Awake in foul,
Vermin recluse in the gap of wound,
Salivated by cum-riddled fingers
Stuck to childhood photos from a lost album.
Dice the penis into segments,
Deliver it with acid
Beyond the jaw of a delinquent,
Amidst the hot barrel of a disillusioned insurgent,
Abscess tooth on vagina,
Blood soaked alleyway sore,
Disenfranchised, ignored whore,
Artistic nude on the recliner
Before an audience
Of sex traffickers eating aortas,
Cash and cheques branded cheeks
Of anal sex sheiks.
Car lights making quadruple shadow legs,
Empty glacier air,
Cigarette smoke stained corners,
Broken language in the ether,
Brake light sniggers,
Curb crawling dwellers
Before Albert Pierrepoint fetishists
On an abandoned estate,
Sex amidst litter,
Billboards advertising defecation
And other laxative based products
Gracefully depicted with the torso
Of a toned man, gutted,
Entrails like waste in the eye
Of an absent grave.
Graffiti on the inner walls of a urethra;
Testicular violence in urban refuse,
Carnal skanks in cancer malaise,
Slit throat labia dismay,
Capital punishments during deep throat,
Masturbate upon the fray
Of norms and values,
Bathe in the cascade of
Cold war cunt
Whilst reciting Kant.
Dear obsequious victim
Be my valentine,
Be my fever,
Be my decaying bunker,
Be my fuck buddy,
Be my war memorial,
Be my syphilitic dandy,
Be my rapist,
Be my liar,
Be my murderer,
Be my local drunk,
Be my inner fire,
Be my own cock
In the fervent utopia
Of my own demise
And show me your heart,
In the shape of a swastika,
In the shape of buggery,
In the shape of Guernica,
In the shape of a massacre.
Give Me Sedatives and Underground Pornography
Lipstick stain, the illicit profane, elicit the decay from the walls of dangling and curled wallpaper, malnourished figures in foetal positions stare piercingly unto darkness as if they understand its reflection. Soiled corners, defecation for décor, cheap Polaroid pictures of nameless children, damp pages of pornography illuminating putrid vessels of nude cores, salivating over silicon absurdities, this cesspit junction can’t function without the presence of dysfunction…the cocaine, the slags, the white and green bags, the sniff, the crack, the seams leaking with incongruity…victims are inane, obsequious blurs of ignorance that negate any sense of adversity, they’re just symbolic of their own products, held down by possessions and materials governed by a rule that has metastasized to rule without awareness. Motorway veins cascade in and out, in and out, stabbing, penetrating, pulsating organisms that rupture the crack filled ribcages of the forgotten…sex work gulag girls, the disposable toys of rent boys, renting, the hiring of flesh – slow suicide; painless at first, fatal fast like Van Gogh’s ear lobe, the screeching of trains, sparks of metal rain into the gutters that smells of tears and stale urine, cigarette stubs and stolen purses, profanity and insensitive curses…full moon glow on crack bloated faces, scars of inanity, scars of places, killing hope, hope killing in fake sunrise and amoral insanity.
Veal veins within
Vaccinated voids voluptuously dance
From the pores of the soil of Sodom,
Incessantly insipid is
The rapacious rapture of
Wanton whore sin.
Car light starlets
Unto the mire of uncouth pith,
Insatiate concrete roamers
Nocturnally nourished by
The salacious sores upon their forearm,
The feeding of holes;
One of which incites numbness,
Semen. Drugs. Alcohol.
A trinity of defilement
Or a trichotomy of profligate ideals?
Their sign of the cross
Before a hard-on and a hit,
A bleeding lip,
A deflowered clit
Perforated by a lonely married man
With the blood of his wife on his fists.
Some are just scared shitless,
With floppy pricks
After a gallon of lager
That tastes like fetishists’ piss.
With lascivious scowls
Under halogen discordance
In accordance to the motorcades
Of hearses filled with potential johns
Wanting blowjobs and handjobs
Off heroin-pallid rejected blondes.
The cold spike of night,
The fear of existing treads
With every carnal plight.
The thigh high boots
And moth bitten fur coats
Wolf whistle that wretched prurience
On their corner islands of narcotic influenced hymens,
These deleterious sirens
Enchant their pathetic ships
Unto the depths of dark alleys
And money obsessed grips.
Foaming at the mouth she slips
Like cattle that conform to their deathly paths.
Craig Podmore is a writer and filmmaker from Manchester, UK. erbacce-Press published his first chapbook, I Am a Gun in 2009 and his second short collection entitled The Abattoir Heavens and The Holy Ghost back in mid 2010. He also has many full length poetry collections under his belt…Love Notes From A Soldier’s Diary (NeoPoiesis Press), The Hell in Me, the Hell in You (Oneiros Books), DO NOT CENSOR (Oneiros Books), an autopsy of the spleen (chapbook published by Bone Orchard Press), Entropic Elegies (Lapwing Publications), Pornocopia (Oneiros Books) and most recently, AMPHITHEATRE Or The Anatomy of Nowhere (Dynatox Ministries). Craig has also had the delight of having his debut novel published, The Origin of Manias (Oneiros Books). He also ventures into self-publishing, his personal publishing platform, 'Antiseptic Press', thus far, he’s published his menacing poetry collection, Toilet Mouth and his latest despairingly romantic/melancholic tome, In The Wake of Love. Craig’s scathing poetry and prose targets the absurdity of the modern man whilst also examining the superfluity of morality and other paradoxes in humanity. ‘Antiseptic Press/Productions’ is his own creative platform for his writing and filmmaking. His material and excerpts have appeared in some wonderful and strange magazines such as Horror, Sleaze, Trash, Gutter Eloquence, Sugar Mule, Meat songs, 1/25, Paraphilia Magazine, Bone Orchard Poetry, A New Ulster, Instant Pussy and Unlikely Stories.