Peak of the Desert Heat by Bogdan Dragos

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The close up of a child soldier looking through the lens of a rifle
Image Source: Snappa

To work at the peak

of the desert heat

The adults told him he’d need

an injection for that

and the man dressed in white

grabbed his arm and lifted it

and stung him with the needle in the shoulder

and injected the serum

It took away all doubt

from his mind

and all weariness from his heart

and limbs

He was ready

“Good boy,” the adults said

and patted him on the back

They gave him an assault riffle,

one he’d held and used

before for practice,

and sent him out of camp

and towards the enemy soldiers

It’ll be fine

-BOGDAN DRAGOS

Bogdan Dragos supervises casinos for a gambling company, working twelve-hour shifts locked in a dark office full of TV monitors. There he mostly daydreams and writes poems and stories. He also manages a poetry blog Daydreaming as a profession.

We would love…

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adventure girl by Bogdan Dragos

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j re crivello's avatarMasticadoresAfrica

It is known
You can never hold on to
an adventurer

and she was one

And she was gone

and he stood by the window
and smelled the
guitar she left behind,
not knowing how to play it

A girl like her
travels around the world
like a sailor and
loves many boys and men
and they never forget her

The one mistake
they all share is
trying to lock her in their
world

It’s like trying to
capture the sun’s light in
a bag and take it
into your dark house

Women like her
are responsible for
men who call themselves
romantics and write love poems
and dream

He struck the cords
of the guitar
once. Looked out
the window. Warm, sunny day.
Streets busy with children
running fast, passing by
adults who walked slow

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22

Play the Tendons like Violin Cords in the Cold Night by Bogdan Dragos

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A muscular, shirtless man with his back towards the camera and a knife raised with both hands at his neck level
Image Source: Snappa

that guitar is useless in

his hands now

He spent over ten thousand

hours playing

It’s all he does, really

He has all the time

in the world

after the accident that

rendered his legs

useless

He sits in bed or in

the wheelchair all day

and plays the guitar

but it’s all useless

He’s lacking the fire

in his eyes

All his songs are the

same song

A sad tune

And the lyrics are all in

his mind

and they’re darker than his

eyes

Colder

The other day his

mother found a

knife in his room,

under the mattress

He said the guitar wasn’t

enough anymore

The guitar was fine so far

because the cords

brought feeling

to his fingers

but now that the fingers

had gone completely numb

with thick skin

he wanted to

pick up the violin

for a change

-BOGDAN DRAGOS

Bogdan Dragos…

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4

Bogdan Dragos

featured magazine literary wiring poem poetry writer reading read published publishing publisher story book feature inspiration

Horror Sleaze Trash's avatarHorror Sleaze Trash

fruit flies and eternal love

sunny day outside
streets full
of people seeking water
and cold beers

overcast day inside
the cold, irregular walls
of the basement 
in the abandoned building
The clouds are alive
and very annoying

She slaps his forehead
with a sloppy hand 
soaked in vomit

“Ouch!” he screams

And she says, “I can’t stand
these fucking 
fruit flies. Why must 
they follow everywhere we go?”

He turns around 
on the wool blanket and 
shoves away a few empty bottles
of cheap wine
and 
drops his head onto
her naked lap. “Because, baby, we’re
putrid. You and I, we’re both
dead on the inside
and out. And the fruit flies
love the smell
and taste of our bodies. Especially
when they come 
together and sweat a lot.”

His hand grabs at
her upper thigh
and the fingers 
tap playfully along the 
piano-key-like cut marks
that adorn it

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static

she looks up at me with 
eyes hidden, almost locked,
behind 
thick bars of hair
that reaches all the way to 
her small nose

Hair discolored like
dry straw,
second in paleness only
to her ghostly face

She doesn’t stare too much
because there 
are other things to see
in the room

She moves 
on. Not 
knowing that I also stared
at her. Into her soul

I’ve spotted an unquenched
cry there

The easiest to
recognize is the cry of loss
and that’s what I saw there

paired with
the cry of want

She wants to get away
from here
Far, far away. She wants to go
and never stop. Wants
to travel into 
forever

and I’d like to
take her 
there

But alas,
I am stuck here onto
this wall

frozen in time

I'm a static 
painting

And my cold
words 
void of any vibration
will never reach her

I have to make my peace
with it. Yeah, some
people just don’t read
poetry. And even if
they do, what are the chances 
they’d read mine? 

Wow, what a fool I can be at times
But, well, at least
I have my dreams
and myself to laugh at 

You don’t need much else
in eternity
My Instagram
Check out my BOOK
Toss a coin on my keyboard

27

a man doesn’t need much to cling to life by Bodgan Dragos

j re crivello's avatarMasticadoresAfrica

A lone ant crawled into his hair and went across his forehead to his eyelid He woke up Sand all about him and wood above But this was so far from hell Hell was a thing of the past now Now he had her by his side She was still sleeping in her rugged sleeping bag For the past few days they slept under the cabin to avoid being ambushed inside He knew she wouldn’t be by his side for long. The infection in her mouth was really getting out of control putting her one outrageous fever away from death This was the world today A warm wasteland full of predators and no medical help of any kind. Kill or be killed. Law of the jungle. And so on He liked to believe he adapted Too many didn’t His luck stood in not having that much of a fine life…

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9

Strategy for Productive Writing by Bogdan Dragos

Image Source: Snappa “I tried to hire my mentally ill brother,” he said. “I gave him a knife. He’s forbidden to touch them but I gave him one anyways and told him to use it on me. That was my strategy for productive writing. My brother would stand by the door and I told him […]

Strategy for Productive Writing by Bogdan Dragos
5

fasting for muses by Bogdan Dragos

well it’s been about four days of fasting Four days of eating nothing but smoke from his cigarettes so it was difficult to tell whether the woman who sat in his bathtub and smoked some of his cigarettes and watched him writing on his desk was real or not “Of course I’m real, you dumbass!” […]

fasting for muses by Bogdan Dragos
18

Commercials on a Loop by Bogdan Dragos

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Terveen Gill's avatarChewers by Masticadores

An old model black colored TV with static across its screen
Image Source: Snappa

they didn’t even know

who the kid watching TV in the

other room was

but maybe that was

not their number one problem

“You goddamn bitch,” he said. “Tell me!

Tell me you didn’t

steal any from me, so I can say

I don’t believe you. C’mon, tell me!”

“Fuck you,” she said. “You lost it.”

“I knew you’d find some

excuse, some lie. Cuz you’re one lying bitch,

that’s what you are.”

“Hey, what about the tenant?”

“Who?”

“The tenant, deepshit! From the other

room. You’d rather believe

I stole it, not him?”

“What the…? Bitch, that’s your son. He’s

like five. He don’t pay no rent.”

“What? We gotta kick ‘im out then!”

“Aha! So you did

take my shit! You’re so high you don’t

recognize your own son. Again!”

They were louder than

the TV

but it didn’t matter. This TV had one

channel…

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13

don’t trade the madness by Bogdan Dragos

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j re crivello's avatarMasticadoresAfrica

“You need help,” they told him. “Get some therapy, some counseling, something. Reach out, man, you need help.” He would raise his glass at such advice and say, “Oh, hell yeah, I need all the help I can get. Thanks.” But he would never actually reach for it He’d reach for the closest bottle and pour himself another drink and maybe reach for some leg or breast or ass By this time the ladies knew he wasn’t a bum, even though he looked like one with his ragged, soiled green suit and his worn out shoes his cobweb-like greasy hair and the unkempt beard that looked like he was chewing on a dead, rotting octopus He was loaded with cash despite all that And the explanation was simple He was a poet He laughed at all those well-meaning advisers and their concerns He would return to his home in the…

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