Some Polaroid Porn Like Benzedrine

chained feet

the lightning scarred the charcoal skyit was a night tide it caused her eyes to burn

talons were opening the overhead flesh tent wide
whisper whisper silent silent silent
“please forgive me please forgive me please forgive”
contrition acts – relentless
“take my soul to bury please”

she was a media sensation,
wearing only black crepe
and stilettos

blood sigils were graffitied on the wall privately privately.
they were left to be filed away in the back of her mind privately
grafted to her inner thighs.

there was a conversation amongst
females concerning their cravings for magickal events,
while a figure knelt in the corner tonguing screams of
reveries of musky fluids and of french black tobacco
(dark sex sin rolled up in a cigarette)
words were washed down her throat
luminescent cocktails gag

they were all dead-on smashed
a sonic fuck/slash– a fleshed out fuck-up
a whip sting soliloquy about
the glass tingling before cracking
as the concrete crumbled
it was hard trash just like the other species

the violins burned crimson
as she held the musicians’ plucked eyes in her
lap and counted her blessings.
all gone. gone. gone.
plural recognition
their blessings were removed
the mistress of depravity looked down and
licked her teeth behind grim lips

at that time she flung the orbs to the floor
crushing them with her heels and
humiliating them with her actions
a soft squish of retinas
she wore the movements and
she wore the sounds


she scanned the dance floor for the eventual victim
she knew it by its thrashing of the apparatus
it told her about the crimes in town
nibble receiver squatting down beside her
and reached up pushed down closer against her

bending way over she exposed her ass
brazen not exaggerating

(the octopus mouth moaned)

she sweated while letting her
breasts hang low in the dark
a smile for the camera as the flashbulbs burned
she was a sensation wearing only black crepe
a species complex

3 females in a circle
3 women shapely dead white
raised their eyes and their arms,
stretched towards the convex
azure glass overhead
peopled with shiny red specks
skylights collapsed
cut the throat while the headlights crack
licking the street clean, she smelled broadway 1975

they chatted as they slurped the cum produced
from a vigorous fucking,
taken at the cardiac operation.

as her eyes grew accustomed to the strokes,
miscellaneous corpses shot embalming fluid
into the air –
a vigorous ejaculation of
formaldehyde and dye
shot out at an audience that drooled as their tongues
spasmed black

she loved the sweet sadness that came in waves
she counted her switchblades and wondered how the heart
should be excised…


the days that followed were full of dread
her pubic hair reeked of the odors of ancient moist sounds

(she whispered into the crack in the plaster
a question posed by the fireball rotating
in her cervix,
“is pornography always gratuitous?”
then into his left decaying ear, another question,
“will you fuck me, then taste me before you die?”)

3.1” x 3.1” she knew the size of the snapshot
and what would fit within range as she
photographed the shadows writhing in fluid.

white stains tinged with purple – the color of her eyes
flesh for sexpots lying in wait.

Instant shapshots christened glistened

3 females in a circle
3 women

raised their eyes and their arms, fingers
stretched towards the convex
azure glass
shining red specks
black gauze gently wrapped around each head
shimmy shimmy

their dresses dropped,
stepped out stepped on
while the blank expression imbedded in each
cunt licked its lips and
shimmy shimmy
as their tongues touched
she heard a glass cracked pale hands
pantomiming modern humor

the polaroids were intended to accompany
him in his life after death
the architect in flames
criminals from her friend
reclining nude females catalogued
by their pain

her tears had dried and the sounds
of fingers smearing
her spit into her hair delighted her

she was almost oblivious to light as the day
became a shorter black dream again

By Peter Marra

Within the Eyes of Teeth

WithintheEyesofTeethGrady was a fat, sad, old man. His heart had been broken too many times. Severely depressed, Grady locked himself inside of his house. The house was musty and old much like Grady. The bottles of alcohol that Grady consumed daily were strewn around every room. Multiple times a day Grady would stumble into these bottles and they would fall. They would make a convincing bowling pin sound as they hit the floor. After a late night bender Grady’s eye had become irritated. It throbbed with pain. Like the cure to all his problems he drank the pain away. He blacked out in his old recliner until late afternoon the next day.

Grady awoke with the pain in his eye even worse than the night before. After a struggle with putting the leg rest down on his recliner, Grady sat up. He felt around the area for cuts or swelling, but nothing was there. He winced and blinked but the pain stayed. An obtuse pain, Grady couldn’t find the irritation’s epicenter. Grady stumbled out of his chair and down the hallway to his bathroom. He swayed into the dead soldiers, and they smashed all around him. An unspeakable horror arose when the bathroom light illuminated Grady’s eye.

One little tooth had appeared in his bottom eyelid. The tooth was not sharp but was rather adolescent in its nature. A tooth a little boy or girl would put under their pillow for a quarter or two. When Grady saw this he moved closer to the mirror. Grady’s breaths had appeared on the mirror in the form of condensation. Grady wiped the foggy mirror clear and went back to examining his eye. The one tooth had now sprouted full sets of teeth on the top and bottom of his eyelid. Scared, Grady threw himself backwards. He slammed his back against the tile wall. His breathing thrashed like a broken record. Grady got up and looked again at his disfigurement. The pain in Grady’s eye pulsated. And now that Grady knew where the pain was coming from, now that he knew what it looked like, he could get rid of it. The only way Grady knew how to get rid of pain was the bottle. He grabbed a long bottle that smelt of old whiskey and smashed it. The bottom of the bottle smashed into hundreds of pieces. The handle and jagged mid-section remained. Grady opened his teethed eye wide. An epiphany should have settled in now. Grady’s eyes were wide with clarity, but he never stood a chance. Grady furiously jammed the sharp bottle into his eye repeatedly, ten times, twenty, and fifty, than one hundred times. The blood painted the room red. Grady collapsed onto the floor. He ran his index finger through his red bodily fluid and scrawled a note.

The coroner had taken a black and white picture of the note for evidence. The note that Grady left had read,

The pain has ended.

The coroner found only one set of teeth in Grady that day, and right where they were supposed to be, in his mouth.

By Joshua Ryan