A Sweet Tooth Moment

(a skin composed of milk

is a  backdrop for what will happen.

a much anticipated event

but no audience is present).


he told her a secret but she asked him to repeat it

(only in a soft soft whisper).

she gave him a sweet taste and burning veins.

(any movie will do).


her smile queried for a solar direction.

her eyes asked for a lunar purpose.

her flesh was clammy from the events of the previous day.


she was at the door,

it was an attack of unusual strength.

the depravity had her stretched. quavering.

they were lost in museums for the entire time,

the black tides under the moons were

touchy feely for her frame.


as one eye peeked out from the walls,

she washed his hair with rubbing alcohol

then tuned the radio to static.

a flesh fire dance in his brain


the foolish decisions that had precipitated it made her go forward

“my darkest sense just is,” she told him, “that’s why i had this thrill kill”,

“i was gazing at the semi-dark / and now it whispers.”


she continued to croon pain then left him in the surf, it was

nighttime: a tide erupted and took him away.

she cried then shrugged: the illusions of a lady.


Raw Weekend A Sliver Screen Confidential


Follow me

On the mainly negative dance floor

Fall down slowly and talk to the screen

zippering a window closed forever

ideas buried beneath the waves of light

a turning black-tide

a party was starting but the people had left

the motion mixed very well with my blindfold.


Swollen minds stretching from the moment

Quarantined as the eyes adjusted

Hooves polished the mare rode off

The women talked and stared at each other

Frozen grins laugh by laugh heard behind them


the next morning she transcribed

the events of the previous day

on a clipboard.



she lifted her skirt

admired herself

smiled at her exposure

adjusted her seamed stockings


she then walked

slowly home

slowly whistling and


gently stepping over twisting horizontal figures that were

slowly merging with dark widows.


By Peter Marra


Sex, Blood and Rock ‘n’ Roll

It had been like field dressing a deer, just as he said it would be. Once she took the skin off and cleaned it, it was very soft and pliable. She wrapped herself in it like a mink coat, and pulled the roughly cut out lapels close to her chin. She could hear them screaming her name, screaming their name.

Sean was grinning, shoving a severed head on end of his bass, she wondered if that would effect the sound any. RayRay had her head submerged in a bucket that was placed underneath a man with his throat slit. They’d let his thick syrupy blood leak out hours ago, while he suffocated. Dan had the foresight to put an anti-coagulating agent in the mix, so that it didn’t start to get all crusty.

Annabell was draped in her man cloak, wearing nothing but fishnet hot pants and electrical tape over her big pink nipples. She looked like a flesh colored pterodactyl, right out of some 1970s prehistoric porno. RayRay was letting the freshly applied bodily fluid drip down her naked DD tits, rubbing the gooey red slime all over herself before stepping into a neon blue g-string, she had long blonde dreads and diamond tassels on her fancy feast breasts. She was more like Jack the Ripper’s favorite cyber punk prostitute, and that was probably what she was going for.

Dan snuck up behind Annabell and pulled her close, kissing the base of her neck. “You look so hot wearing that hipster’s skin,” he whispered breathily. “They’re shouting our name!” Sean motioned the others out towards the stage. Anna gave one last look at the carnage before she picked up her token microphone, a meat cleaver with a sound head attached, and spread her freshly skinned wings for one hell of an entrance.

Anal Corpse Fuckers played an hour and a half set while enthralled fans threw chunks of raw meat, and masturbated furiously to the writhing stripperific horror goddesses wailing on their instruments. It was porn meets Spinal Tap meets Friday the 13th. Annabell and RayRay mouth fucked each other while Dan and Sean raged furiously in the background. By the time the cops showed up the audience was covered in one form of liquid or another.

The band made their way back to the dressing room, listening to their manager offer the pigs a hunk of change to get the fuck out of there. Waiting patiently by the door were five awesome groupies, coated in blood and black make up, three boys and two succulent imitation RayRay girls.

“Hello friends,” Dan hissed with a smile. “Want to come back stage for the after party?” They all squealed with delight. Annabell sashayed in close to one of the boys and grabbed his cock with her left hand, while caressing his stomach with her mic. He started melting in her grasp and then sank completely as she penetrated his gut with her giant knife.

The girls started to scream, Dan and Sean quickly subdued them. RayRay had already injected the other two boys with a slow acting neurotoxin, they felt the terror but they couldn’t move a muscle. Annabell left her hemorrhaging man to wither in the corner. She approached her two new lovers, stradling them and grinding against their hip bones, their eyes white with terror. “Sweetie,” she giggled. “Don’t look at me like that! You wanted to join the party, now you’re going to be part of the road show . . . as props.”

They all grinned wickedly and pulled the bodies in the back room.

By Emily Smith-Miller

*Inspired by the band Butcher Babies

Dante’s Riscatto


These everyday raging fires

burning within my body

are tributes to a baptismal

of God’s seed and Satan’s greed;

I am cursed for being born


Stranded within a gorge, I am

a crossroad in the intermediate

of the just and the unjust succeeding

the righteous and the wicked;

I am cursed for living


Broken is my body

withered is my heart

splayed is my flesh

maggots banquet on my corpse;

I am cursed for dying

Inferno Purgatorio Paradiso. . .Riscatto

By Devlin De La Chapa


Be Careful What You Wish For

Her photo is alluring. Her deep raven colored hair is long and lush, shining here and there with dark auburn highlights. Her bangs hang low, making her eyes more mysterious; framing and accentuating her sensuous yet innocent girl next door face.

And those eyes – oh, those eyes are so round and soft, bottomless with a glint of blue that is absolutely magnetic.

Then there is her mouth. A mouth so inviting , with luscious red lips pursed just enough for those perfectly straight, pearly teeth to peek through. I can’t stop: all I want to do is plunge something in that mouth.

Her body is sleek, with all the subtle and hard curves of an amusement park ride. She’s a cross between a healthy coed on spring break wrapped around a pole and the baby sitter you always craved.

Her legs are long and toned, with thighs so smooth they demand the attention of my tongue.

I am wet from sweat. I am wet from saliva. I am wet from, well, you know.

Her ad calls for only basic screening, and hell, I’m single and unattached, what do I care. I can afford her rate. I have always had the fantasy and tonight I am finally going to get it fulfilled.

My wish is on a hot streak. It is fate itself. She answers on the second ring and to my surprise isn’t booked for this evening. The lilts and giggles in the purr of her voice reflect the anxiousness in my own voice. I happily give her my information: name, address, phone number, employer and the like.

Already, she is more than I could have expected.  Now, I just have to hold myself for her call back.

At 8 pm I am to meet her outside, in front of a small, uptown café. In this city, any eatery, no matter the size or menu that can place a couple of tables and chairs on the sidewalk, can bill itself as a café.

Fifteen minutes early and I feel late. I decide to hang by a mailbox on the corner that will allow me views east to west, north to south, and up and down a couple of alleys in between. While the walking trade is certainly thinner than during the day, nightlife is still what this city is all about.

I’m surprised no one has paid her any mind. From blocks away she certainly stands out. Amongst all the dolled up secretaries and ‘tappable’ coeds – girls I would normally be chasing-she is a goddess.

She’s tall, at least five foot ten, with the tightest and shortest of little black dresses. Her walk in those stilettos is one of ease as she appears to float above and past the rest. Yet she doesn’t merit a glance from anyone.

Still a block away, her eyes find mine and lock. I am frozen in place, eyes to soles as she smiles, mouthing ‘Hey lover’.

Without hesitation she pecks me on the lips, barely slipping the tip of her tongue into my mouth.  Just for a brief second, sliding it in and out, wet and quickly. My muscles, already locked, tighten more. I am as stiff as a board. She smiles again, knowing I am hooked.

Over a cocktail that she never drinks, we briefly get acquainted. Small talk has never been my thing, but tonight I just open up about my life and desires. She takes it all in, speaking only with a glance, a stare and those gesturing lips.

It isn’t long before she whisks me away, four full blocks north to a three story walk up built sometime in the 1870s, nestled between two enormous, new co-ops. I have lived here all of my  life. I have been up and down this street countless times, but I simply don’t recall ever seeing this building before.

As we make the climb, she is ahead of me, spanning two steps at a time, furtively looking back with a naughty, taunting grin, to be sure that my sight is squarely fixed on what she is not wearing under that dress.

By the time we reach her apartment I am spent from the walk and the view, but when she whirls around and gives me a longer kiss with even more tongue, and a little knee rub to my lap,she re-energizes me as we burst, clenched together, through the door.

I don’t remember the first ten minutes all too well or where our clothes landed, but I have never been in touch with a woman as I am now. I’m naked on her plush white flokati hoping to slow my heartbeat to normal and hoping to find my strength for a second round. I can see the apartment looks much larger on the inside and is impeccably appointed in high end modern decor.

As my vision, mind and consciousness finally re-connect, she is standing over me in a red silk robe. Her voice is soft, yet edged with a growl, “So, how do you feel?”

Choking the words out, “Utterly fantastic. I cannot describe … but you must get that…”

She puts her index finger to my lips to quiet me, “No, I only save my very best for those who are ready, and you said you are ready, right?”

Blushing and gushing like this is my first crush, “I have never been more ready. I have dreamt of this for a long time. Please do it to me. Please.”

“Get ready then. Where do you want it?”

“Anywhere. My body is still tingling. So anywhere, please.”

With that, for the first time she brandishes those canines, swooping down between my legs. Before she takes that bite – the kiss I have craved for all of my life – the last thing I hear is her saying, “You are not going to need this where I’m taking you.”

By Joseph J. Patchen


Of The Shadows

Hear it in a void:

psalms chanted slowly

words slip out from blue lips and

chattering teeth.


See it discretely:

the ice touch from the windows

burns then caresses

as we watch the trees grow slowly






/o my god

mascara streaming silken salt water

things painting the walls/


freely sliced in secret while they look away

simulated love

a hide / a cry

hidden sighs

heard from walls slowly moving away.


the flowers revolve

revolve towards the black sun smiling

black circle falling

the ingredient of forgotten

adulterers sniffing at

the sheets wet burn

in a slick mucous dream


/o my god

mascara streaming silken salt water

things painting the walls/


let. Me. Sleep.


the wooden cross / cold

hangs from the wall

it says goodbye

a pair of

burning black hot lips

mouthing words silently



an after-shadow of nuclear intensity

hiroshima mon amour

first degree epidermis redness,

after several hours in

tissue flesh, see the word-smell

mad wounds rising because

electrical burns are hers.


damage is not always obvious. walk. She was forced.


Because of a loss, a full-thickness, an explanation

as time dies lying in your lap?


she stopped when the floor grabbed her.


tell us about crouching figures

at the base

of a crucifixion


a bullet for the red light

a message waiting blown

away in spit and brine


she forced it

3 hours


three hours

it will be finished

blink. Slowly. Roused. Slowly.


cold sweat dream

close her teeth



she emerged crimson from

the flaming sex garage

By Peter Marra