Punk Monk Press/Magazine

such profound pronouncements on personal disfigurement, I wonder if once you were pretty, perhaps, prepubescent, a child angry at adults who adored the doll with all the bumps and scars on the inside. did friendly hands, friendly eyes, friendly voices chuck you beneath your chubby chin look into innocent eyes and lovingly only see a happy, beautiful  baby? struggling to stifle the screams, the dreams, labored breath clinging to damp, dying lungs, I wonder, when you were young, with this limp, these twisted bones, did loving voices coax you along give you hope? --Holly Day

although affluent and choate before permitting entry she was left quite broke/n after he broke in. it was a sordid sort of checkmate. -- Jocelyn Crawley

  You’re dark and pretty and I’m too blonde.   You’re petite and              probably a    little shy.                 And I’m gaudy and                                rough enough not to                                                              care.   You’re no-doubtedly elegant and ...

ziggy knows the lack be-hind my starless eyes the zombie addiction & flinch checkmates me in bad super- markets i am meat or fowl my own mother would have said "shit" & returned me to produce saved her hop- e for a second son in a back freezer --Kyle Hemmings

i so badly want to stick my fingers up my vag i mean it. i would trade anything in the world my new suit, my freshly blown hair and this whole set-up of murphy's law - my nice house and this air of culture i have to put up around other women with the same coifed mane. i just want to dig around the old bush and scratch the itch with my index if not for the bloody fact that i just did my nails today. manicure. red as rubies gleaming evilly at me under the light whilst someone passes me a glass of red wine in which i am dying to break the stem with, upon his pompous head. i would go to jail right now just for that just for the chance to feel up my blubbery lovely labia. --Euginia Tan

Want some dirty little secrets on what makes us tick? (And purr? And hiss?) Check out our smashing six-question interview conducted by Jim Harrington! http://sixquestionsfor.blogspot.ca/2012/11/six-questions-for-jennifer-patterson.html Yours in love and darkness, Ms. Taylor Adams and Ms. Jennifer Patterson

The doctor says the o-word and it hangs like a guillotine in the air. Your father asks,  If this was your child?  The doctor says,  Yes, of course. Without a doubt. Do I have your permission?  Your mother, exhausted from delivering you, is crumpled on the bed, her open-backed gown still pushed up around her wet thighs. Your father looks at his wife, at her damp curls slicked back. She is too scared to cry. That's when your father says it.  Yes.  You imagine that tiny yes fluttering down from your father's lips like a falling maple seed. Sometimes it is a helpless yes, a grasping yes, a choking yes, a yes that wraps itself around his throat until it squeezes the last drop of air from his soft esophagus. Sometimes it is a mean yes, a cruel yes, a yes delivered in relief, a yes uttered simply so the decision will be behind him. And sometimes it is a no-yes, a yes that might have been conceived of as a no, a no that might have morphed into a yes, spontaneousl...