Punk Monk Press/Magazine

Growth, reveals, regeneration It starts and stalls and restarts There is a circular effect A desire, yearning to start more Perhaps before ready. The muddy ground still frozen Comes away in clumps, Patience is required To tidy up the edges only When we really want To sink our shovels into Mud..... Patience works area We are still waking Watch for the signs Brown, brown, brown, grit And dust To green and black Ready for the turning To reveal the sprouting  Seeds of summer. --Ruth Sorochan

Leave me alone and this thing between us will be alright. Drop me, along with every single memory along the way. The feeling I’m feeling, the feeling you feel When you're feeling low, isn't normal now and maybe never will be. Should be. I think you’re worthless and I look away every time I see you. Or at least today. It’s not a Suicide; it's hard to lock my doors at Night should you decide to come stumbling in and change the way I feel. But I should warn you about who I am. Those feelings you're feeling, aren't normal. To think: you love me but hate the way I took you down, Took One Giant Step for Womankind And now all I can see is just trust, But it’s not coming from you. You are you, but don’t you see they're all going to choke Me? And part of me doesn't want it to stop. But that’s the part you stroke it to. So please, just drop those thoughts behind you now. Change your life. You don't need me. To love you...

So here I am. in the company of the world's true assholes. shit kickers. blood spitters, ex-dancers from the Foxy Lady. shoplifters, ball squeezers and bag snatchers. I'm hidden in a ratty apartment overwhelmed by fleas. I'm surrounded by stale cigarette smoke. walls of candied smut. I walk on urine floorboards. I sleep in a garroted gambler's bed. The last good high says it best: Smash the gin bottles. Crank up the fire with whatever furniture is left. Toss the much-used condom out the window. Spare the needle and spoil the arm. Throw up in the sink. while you’re at it. I live with the worst roommates necessity could come up with. But without them. I could never make the rent. And without their crazies, you're not reading this. --John Grey

Saint             FOR WENDY DAVIS At seven I asked to name my new sister Wendy so I could fly with Peter Pan. One Wendy friend here A second one there; she came she went until two thousand thirteen in June. A Bethlehem teardrop wet my cheek when a Texas Wendy rose in stature to an icon. Here stood an unwed mother in a race for justice the world watched another Mary. -- Sydney McQuoid

Girls Gone Wild has a new website.  Only 99₵ (for a 3-day trial), the latenight infomercial screamed at me.  See the latest college co-eds getting down and dirty.  I couldn’t help but think that girls have gone stupid.  99₵ for their collective dignities!?!  These are self- proclaimed collegiates.  I wondered how any of them passed basic math, if any of them even bothered to do the math.  I did.  It came to some bizarre fractional proportion:  1/1000 of a penny (give or take) a girl.  That’s the pricetag they have allowed millions of hairy-palmed hounds to slap on their asses, or tits, or . . . I turned the channel in disgust.  For lack of any better options, I picked up my pen and wrote a letter to my congressman about the sad state of education in this country. --Amy Huffman

She ran up to her room, cried with her head on the pillow, then threw up in the toilet. Finally, she slept and dreamed rutted roads, rotting barns, and twilight bats she took for songbirds. And then next morning, she felt grubby hands on her, middle aged men who leered from cars, or old farmers with liver spots. And she spat out all food. It tasted of cardboard left in the rain. And then she spent the afternoon with the boy she really wished had made her pregnant. They even kissed, tasted tongues. He grabbed at her breast with that explorer's eagerness, like it was the first time anyone was going there. His kisses were like white chocolate, sweet, but nothing that her stomach hadn't heard before. She longed to press her head against his chest and cry. Or even better, open him up and retch inside. Or open herself up and free her guts of the rutted roads, rotting barns, and those damn songbirds that she knew too well wer...

This peace was originally performed on May 22 @ Cha Island for our local Speak Your Peace event! It was awesome. You shoulda been.  Status Quo  Fill out the form, schedule the meeting Though chance of improvement is definitely fleeting Honor “due process”, it's what you must follow Despite that the system is completely hollow That's the thing with chain of command. What it really means is you are on the bottom of the food chain. What they meant when they welcomed you on their crew, is you need to learn your place-cause you're new. Won't drink the Kool-Aid, at the toxic water cooler Though everyone insists, your dues must be paid. Perhaps this is why they hate, become terribly irate Wade in mediocrity pool. “Put up and shut up” is the silent, long-held rule. Sprinkle the egg-shells for this arduous dance We Cha-Cha around the truth we'll never tell. “Fabricate is a word we don't use in this house.” But we'll eagerly gobble assumptions and gossip at ...