Tag: art

superstitious woman

In the morning
she jerked him off
and had him
cum in the cups of her
bra and then
he watched as she put it
on and went about the
rest of her day like
that

She worked as an
elementary school teacher

believed in the
horoscope

and witchcraft

and aliens

and demons

and told the students in
her class that
her dead husband reincarnated into
her dog and every morning
she took his seed to
hold in her bosom for good luck

It definitely worked
because she got a raise in
the next few weeks

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42

facing the dark corner

the old lady didn’t mind being
called crazy

or being laughed at for
spending her days
alone
in her small cottage
facing the dark corner
of the room and
talking to
her dead daughter

encouraging her to eat up
and grow up
and complimenting her on the good
looks she’d gained

“Oh, I bet the boys are all dropping
dead in your wake, hehe. Look
at those legs. So slim and long and
deadly. You’re a beauty
among beauties, my dear. Here, have another
one. Eat up to grow up. You’re gonna
have hundreds of strong, beautiful
children, hehe.”

The neighbors and the world
could keep calling her crazy, she
knew she was just very happy

She grabbed another grasshopper from
a jar and ripped its hind legs
and placed it
on the spider’s web

“Here’s another one, dear. Eat up
and grow up, hehe.”

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100

a turtle born on the wrong side of its shell by Bogdan Dragos

He had a big belly but he wasn’t a fat man he wished he was a fat man   his daughter was four and she told him that he looked like a turtle born on the wrong side of its shell   and mother laughed. He didn’t.   Surely he would have if the swelling […]

a turtle born on the wrong side of its shell by Bogdan Dragos

13

a blunt weapon

There was a time when he’d
fear nothing more
than the bluntness of the
empty bottle

his torment
his nightmare, his hell

The bottle would be
all right as long as it stayed full
It was like Lucifer before the fall

Oh, but once it emptied
then it would change completely
Then he’d see father’s grip
reverse on its neck
and turn it into a blunt weapon
that delivered its fair share
of bruises and scabs on the scalp

It never broke
like in the movies
but it surely hit harder than wood

But in the end
after all those years of standing
in its greenish shadow
he found himself thanking the bottle

It’s simple
What you don’t pick up
you don’t end up holding

He never touched a beer in his life

and certainly didn’t use
the bottle as a blunt weapon
against anybody

not even against his own father
as revenge

The cleaver was far
more effective

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52

to choose the bottle

there are many reasons a woman
can say her final
goodbye to you
 
and somehow they
all feel
different
 
He supposed the worst of all
had to be when
her final goodbye is
influenced by another man
 
made sense
 
but that wasn't his case
Also he was too drunk
to think
straight now. And in too much
pain
 
“It's the final goodbye,” she had
said. “You chose the bottle
over me, now live
with the bottle. Goodbye.”
 
Goddammit, this
really hurt
His dick was only getting harder
and more blue
stuck in the mouth
of the bottle
 
Yet still, through all the
pain and the
dizziness he reached for the
phone and called her.
He said, “Hey, I just want you
to know that… It was
you I had in mind when I did it.
I did it while thinking
of you, love.”
 
She hung up

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22

Love letter by Bogdan Dragos

j re crivello's avatarMasticadoresAfrica

 Usually it was after the second pack of smokes that inspiration came into his soul but today it came after the second cigarette   And when inspiration hit he'd grab the paper and pen and write letters old style   He was a romantic   My love, he wrote, this is the 272nd letter I write you, and its subject will be the idea of impossibility. I think impossibility is highly subjective, my love. I for one can climb Mount Everest in my shorts if I want to, but one thing I'll never ever do is get over you. I dream you every night. Every. Damn. Night. And I wake up and grab the dress you left behind and I wrap its strap around my penis like one of those rubber rings meant to make you last super long. I've been doing it for… a long time, love. Believe me…

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15

the female assassin

the ashtray was looking more
and more
like a sick hedgehog
  
and her yellowed fingers
added one more quill to it
  
she sat back in her chair
  
work wasn't in the best of stages lately and
her office looked like a junkie's
trailer. You could
scrape the nicotine
off the walls. In fact, she
would get nicotine under her nails if she
just scratched her skin
anywhere
  
But otherwise she was
a beauty
and that was a problem. Beautiful
women have the worst
luck in marriages
  
The husband left and the two girls went
with him
They were sick and tired of her
habit to consume more cigarette smoke than
oxygen
  
And drinking was also a problem
though not nearly
as big
  
The worst drinking has ever done to her
was to make her lose
the driving license which she never
bothered to take back
  
The real problem was,
as always,
a lack of money. If the damn phone didn't
ring soon
she would have to kill someone
for a pack of cigarettes
  
Assuming she could still
kill
someone with her body rotting from the
inside. She was fine with
breast cancer
but now lung cancer joined too
and it was by far nastier
  
Still
that was all right
It doesn't take a healthy body to pull
a trigger
  
And speaking of triggers
She opened a drawer in her desk
took out the gun
studied it
  
Not loaded
  
She browsed through the drawer
  
Only one bullet left. One single bullet.
These things cost money
too
  
Damn it
  
But it's like they said back in
the mercenary camp
The last bullet is always preserved to be
used on the self
  
She loaded the bullet into the
gun
  
A life lived well is one
lived without regrets and without
ever asking for mercy
or feeling sorry for yourself
  
At 39
she had that. There was nothing
else to be taken
away from it
  
She put the gun to her
temple
  
Smiled
  
"Except for a final smoke."

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59

sidewalk

I am a sidewalk

one upon whom your
feet dragged heavy and
wet and tired

and I wonder where you
are going
and where you're coming
from

I look up constantly and
am tired of soles and legs and
panties and dropped coins
and litter

and indifference

Too many people, too few dogs
and cats and some rats at night

But you are
different. You wear no shoes and
your little feet are cold and
so delicate
and in your wake you are painting
me with a trail of blood

you are not in the mood to
receive compliments, I know. But
I'll say it anyway. You are beautiful

I hope he never catches you

I wish there was
something I could do
about it
4

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