first came
the 15 page letters
They were
typed in parts and
written by hand in others
the ink color
would change
and the font
and the little doodles on
the margins
The only consistency in
the whole project
was the reader’s
inability to understand 93%
of it all
They were threats, alright,
but of what nature?
Well, next came the envelopes
filled with rusty and bloody
razor blades
pubic hairs
bloody tissues
bloody plastic gloves
broken guitar strings
clipped nails
pictures of random people
with their eyes crossed out
by needle scratches
“It’s not so bad
if you think
about it,” he said. “I get free
stuff in the mail. Sure, most
of it is junk,
but every once in a while I get
something good.
Look, the other day I got this
perfectly functioning pen. Heh,
I might even
start writing poetry again…
I’m tellin’ you, man, breaking
the heart of a psychotic girl
is like
making a contract with
a dumpster diving company to deliver
the junk to your mail. For free.
Goddamn, I should really
start writing poetry again. Now that
I don’t have to go
scout the dumpsters myself. I gotta
do something with
all the free time.”
She could say it if
she wanted
to but
the words would
carry no
weight behind them
like a cat shaking
the paw with
you
and not understanding
the real meaning
behind
the gesture
so was her
every
“I love you.”
Enough to make an
old boy cry
but he
preferred suicide
Needless to say
her response
was
“Meh.”
there was a dog outside and it kept barking for some reason Ah yes, it was chained and the chain was terribly short and the poor animal was hungry Mother wouldn’t bother feeding it No, mother wanted it to die because it had been father’s dog, inherited along with the house after father died Mother forbade feeding the poor thing Her child stood next to the window and listened to the poor thing barking outside It was better than listening to mother drinking and talking ugly words with her boyfriends He opened the window and the dog saw him immediately and barked at him He wanted to cry Tried talking to the creature but it wouldn’t listen. It kept barking “Mother would cut my hand off if she caught me stealing food for you.” But he was a smart kid He leaned over the window and thrust…
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
New poem featured in the illustrious SPILLWORDS PRESS!
TITLE: HER SPLIT TONGUE FLICKERING LIKE A FLAME AGAINST SOFT IDEAS
ʕっ• ᴥ • ʔっ Give it a read HERE
Thanks!
other than
weirded
the fuck out
she didn’t know how
to feel about it
so she read the
words again
SO GLAD TO SEE YOU
ALIVE AND FINE,
LOVE!
ALWAYS KNEW MY DAUGHTER
WILL MAKE IT BIG IN
THIS SMALL WORLD.
LOVE,
DADDY
The words were written
with a black marker
on a $100 bill
that someone threw at
her in the
club
while she was
stripping on the pole
Could’ve been a shitty
prank
but $100 was a bit
too much to spend
for laughs
She tried to
remember the
faces of all the men
who gathered around
her and howled
as she did her number
but they were
simply too many
and too bland
Later that night
she asked the
management to remove
private lap dances
from her list of
services for a while
and
the request was denied
Well, when you make
it big
in a small world
you either carry the
weight of fame
on your shoulders or
get crushed
At least the
money bought a good
dinner for
her little daughter
and the two cats
and the few survivors who couldn’t fight were lined up along with the civilians and shot or killed in ways to entertain the soldiers And dogs were trained to tear them to shreds and the ground became black with their soaked blood and over the next few days a carpet of butterflies gathered on top of it “It’s beautiful,” he said She didn’t pay attention. Was too busy removing golden teeth from a severed head she held in her lap. “Dammit, whoever made these implants did too good a job. I’ve to take ‘em with gums, alright. Look, my knife keeps slipping.” “Stab his eyes please,” he said “What? Why?” “Because he’s looking at us. I can’t stand it.” “Jeez, you’re such a pussy.” She quickly stabbed the blade into the head’s eyes one after the other. “Better?” “Whatever,” he said. “Just hurry up and pull those teeth.” “I’m trying…
a songless bird
that would be the nicest
name she’d been
called
the others,
far more common,
being
that little wench
your bastard kid
the little rat
useless piece of shit that came outta you
and others
She liked the term
songless bird
It was a title worthy of her in
all the good and the
bad ways
The songless bird stands
locked in her room
and knocks and waves in
the window
for she has no voice to sing
She gives silent cries to the
neighbors and
the passersby when the noises
from the other side of
her door
get too violent
or when it smells
of smoke
Which happens
every now
and then
Daydreaming as a profession 