Punk Monk Press/Magazine

Slice me open and lay all my parts onto the table     examine my liver soaked through with alcohol          my spine - rotten to the root look closely at the uterus that has pushed out angels        and devils in mad mating we lost track of which were which         doesn’t matter anyhow because you’re onto the foot that kicked the shit out of every fucker to allow an unscathed journey the hand that’s veiny       and yellowed         it’s a man’s hand you say perhaps it is the one piece of me besides the rib that your forefathers passed on the eye         paled blue almost grey now in a long last look at what makes you tick          you examine my teeth white an...

I don’t want your pamphlets I won’t sign your petition I don’t want bonus miles Points or coupons I don’t believe in what Your political party believes in I won’t be on time I’m not a preferred customer I don’t want to join your club Save money Or miss your fantastic opportunity Leave me the fuck alone   --Paul Smith

I’m listening to wet drops of Eden beat against my window. I’m bored even of apples and I taste serpents in my wine. Mother Mary is too good for me since I’ve become a little sinful, but I’ve learned there are ways around the Bible. So I call to Eve. The woman who spread open sex—did she masturbate? Her punishment for boredom was pain during childbirth but now we have C-sections and multiple orgasms and if she were here now with me, she would skinny-dip, smoke cigars, get a Ph.D. I want her bones; at least a charm to hang around my neck. It’s raining drops of Eden over and over. The same water that ran out of Eden and into Euphrates seeps into the gro...

my name is her in a different story. where i am a little. boy learns stifling romance. a feather in a hat. some wings.  was it her in red dress?  certain voices carry recitations when i learn boy’s tongue. little more manoeuvering. he r kisses the tarmacadam, not knowing what it looks like. i am boy. i tell her whatever i want, what she doesn’t know. i tell her anything. till she believes she is beautiful. there is no thrill in breaking ugly, he tells over my voice.  --Tanya Singh

Constellate at just the right moment, collision and attraction co-ordinating to bring nothing into something. Bed down well, make yourself comfortable, you’ll be here for a while,   so choose a good spot and make your preferences known. Plot the co-ordinates and map yourself gradually, contour, river, landmass. There’s no particular hurry, though people do prefer it if you stay on schedule. Be good at long division. Creep into people’s dreams, whisper your names in storm clouds and summer breezes, flirt with moon shadows and twilight. Make your presence known as soon as you can, bubbles, ticks, pressure, moving, all these are reassuring. If others want to check you out, try to be obvious, subtlety can come later, band a drum, crash saucepan lids, shout from the rooftops. Swim and have secret knowledge of the sea, mermaids, fish people, eels, water mysteries. Yoga is your th...

I start with a sip and my glass refills itself  when I  walk away, an empty bottle behind the bar, costing me ten times its shelf price. I hazily and halfheartedly simulate sobriety, my squeals and haphazard whirling turns, fooling only those whose vision has blurred in front of and  behind me. Stumbling towards the bar, I think I see a room full of cartoon faces. Then a round of unnecessary shots empties my sad, though glamorous, wallet as I tip the distilled liquid down my inflamed esophagus, Swallowing-away minutes of my life that I did not really want anyway. --Jessica Gleason

Editor's Note: In Manchester, I met an amazing artist. He was homeless, selling his poetry page by page. He sold me two for the price of one and I promised to publish them via my humble e-zine. Here they are. Let's hope we hear more from him!  Me Myself and I  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Sat on the edge Society wondering why I'm not a priority  what's come of my life, come over me  my life's in tatters can't you see  beggin at the bank every day get a job get a life people say  i get not benefits just what people give  to buy food and drink to help me live  i live on the street a doorway's my bed  people think I'm thick in the head  it's just Me Myself and I  nobody wants me do you know why  don't I deserve to live with a smile  to make my life worth the while...  Street Life ~~~~~~~~ on the street I have no home  in a doorway all alone  at night it gets so very cold  no one for warmth to c...