their deaths were

four

days apart

first went father

and then

mother

And now the dark smoke

took the shape of

a cat

and clung to his

shoulder, digging sharp

claws into his

tender flesh

“It hurts,” he cried

“Oh, shut up,” the smoke cat

said, “Be a man. In this

world only the

strong survive. While the weak…

look what happens

to them. You must

become strong.

So start with your father,

he’s been

dead for longer.”

“But I’m scared of blood,”

he cried. “And it

stinks in here.”

“You’re scared because

you’re still not a man

yet. Grab the

fucking cleaver and start

working!”

He didn’t want to die

like them. So he

raised the cleaver above

father’s violet wrist

and dropped it

The blood

squirted stale and

stinky

in all directions

“Ew!”

“Ew is well said,” hissed the

cat. “That was

below pathetic. How…

Dear readers

We have reached an agreement with Bogdan Dragos to publish the 5th series of his poems. We are grateful for his collaboration as we highlight that he has hundreds of readers who follow his publications every Wednesday.

Thank you Bogdan! —j re crivello (Director of Masticatores)

they complete us

"But real love," she says, "is when you'd sew your skin into the skin of your lover to become one. If I could cut off my arm from the elbow and cut yours off as well and join them together as one limb, I'd go for it. I'd then follow with the other arm, then the legs, and finally the chests and the foreheads and lips. We'd die of course, but that would be the beauty of it. We'd die together, as one. We'd become a mass of filth and puss and rot and eventually melt into a…