Punk Monk Press/Magazine

I want to be a whore   I don’t want to be a virgin. I want to be a whore. I’m sick of waiting like Penelope. But unlike Penelope I don’t even have suitors. I wouldn’t unstitch I would fuck. I refuse to release my soul from my body like a philosophical man. I don’t want to be sequestered in the measured boredom of weaving or the waves of the ocean. I’m sick of misrecognition. I want to recognise him/her/they. I want to recognise my love. I want to recognise my lust. I want to recognise my desire. I don’t want to wait twenty years. I don’t want a fearful marriage. --Gabrielle Everall

 --Alexey Deyneko 

  --Tammy Higgins

They are taking down the halogens     it's not about the line   being beautiful, or true.    sometimes it's just writing down the weather    in cities we only know    from poems and descriptions   by friends. what else is tel aviv   or buenos aires? it's what ray   carver told me. and gui comes from   sao paolo – people there   are good photographers. new york   is a place where the best    weekends happened in my life – bags of trash   on the street bursting open   like fruit in an orchard and two girls   in three nights – I still think of them sometimes.   they are taking down the halogens   in dublin over summer – the lights shine LED-   white suddenly, rather than orange   and salt. rainy pavements, one could say,    have lost a certain style.    what do poets care though – I can write   old light in poetry. as if words   were a refurb...

  The Gilgo Beach murderer was arrested on July 14, 2023.  Bodies of victims were found 43 miles from the Stony Brook college campus.   Forty-three miles from the forest we walk alone in the dark. From the bonfires we smoke joints  and read Anne Sexton poems.  From the stream we dance in wet nightgowns, and French kiss to see how it feels.  Police say he seduces girls  with his charm and his wit, drugs them and drags them to his car.     What would we do knowing he lurks in the woods,  watching every glance,  every breath, every touch. Would we hide amongst the rocks, run deep into the trees. Cover  our shoulders, and our breasts,  burrow under leaves. Would we attack  with our fists, and our keys. Destroy him, before he destroys us. --M.R. Mandell 

The Worst Thing To Say What was the worst thing she could say Her preschool brain could not keep The flood of her emotions at bay If she wished everyone would go To the sky out loud except for her Great grandmother who more likely Would go there in real time would Her anger still stay or fail to Go away because she incited strong  Feelings in certain listeners She longing for understanding adults To pave the way teaching her to Channel all that baby fury with Nowhere to go by wrapping her In a full body hug acknowledging Her emotion and teaching her a Better way to let it all out --Susan Pollet