Punk Monk Press/Magazine

The disorder of the fluffy clouds And the crumbs scattered on the kitchen top The curtains rumpled And the prints on the floor                      My clammy feet are making                              ------- Untidy messes Starting with the bed The sheets wet,  stinking of sweat                   And sex You naked Cigarette smouldering in your mouth As you open the window And lean out Observing your Kingdom It ends abruptly A ring tone howling A phone call and your concerns are elsewhere Am I merely travelling the rainbow Will there be a pot of gold And I feel  -lonely Now Anticipating the weekend I will keep busy But it will be empty As I search O...

This piece was originally performed at Cha Island on March 26, 2015 for our local Speak Your Peace! event. It was amazing. You shoulda been. I never got to enjoy the oceans ~~ When the car creeps into the empty intersection on a red light, then slowly reverses at a sharp angle I say, "What the hell was that?" He says, "Turning...?" I laugh like a fool Apparently my laughter is contagious     If I wanted to go for a drink, I could do it now I can make my own decisions, drive and fuck and open a bank account I can walk from here to Europe if I really want because Every ocean has been replaced by rigid concrete And I no longer have an excuse to drown     200 days of being a juvenile later Whose feet are these, on which I must stabilize my weight? The advantage of seizing strong legs to hold me up is the certainty of a dance while the disadvantage is dancing a dance that is not mine     We promptly got lost. We en...

This piece was originally performed at Cha Island on March 26, 2015 for our local Speak Your Peace! event. It was awesome. You shoulda been. you can think if you like, the cosmic ebb &flow is an oddity you’ve come to intimately know chaos isnt a dance to be memorized its all improv babe thrash, weave maybe even land on both feet that moody sea lulls you to a false stability then flips ship on you sometimes im a narwhal or else im grasping at staying afloat what tastes worse , the water or the air? so often peace of mind feels so goddamn remote i dont know what to do anymore numb or overrun masterfully glacial or flash flood perpetual motion mind & cement in my blood i dont think i like it my sober stream of thought the screaming is too loud death wails of a planet clutching a knife wound-oil stain of human greed and obsession to"succeed" corruption down to the seed in the core in the rotten blood electric fruit served on rustic pharma fresh st...

I originally performed this piece at Cha Island in March 2015 for our local Speak Your Peace! event. Everyone was amazing. You shoulda been. Cunt Talk Now I know we don’t wanna talk about cunts ‘Cause men fear them which means they fear us Nobody wants to talk about blood in the soul or spit Nobody wants to hear about the times I thrashed against my clit when I fucked the whole world away and felt nothing. Nobody wants to see me look at her to imagine touching her to wonder if I could these fingers have drawn a thousand lines in my mind yet rarely materialised against thigh only once or twice and even then too ashamed to be wet preoccupied with a million lies like You’re cute when you’re angry I’m good when I do what they tell me I wanna fuck hard and loud and I don’t give a fuck who it is or if it hurts This body wasn’t mine it belonged to every eye and when he stuck it in I didn’t cringe. Didn’t cry. Just held my hands against his shirt ...