"do you want to know how i would do it?"

she said, her tiny body perched a foot from me on the couch.

"no, not really, but tell me anyway," i said, slowly in my drunkenness.

"i would really like to hang myself from the tracks.

it would be a really nice death; 

i think about it multiple times a day.

i have so many good memories there," she slurred.

"so does everyone else,"

i said quietly.

i needed to make sure she was safe and okay.

i understood that this was not love.

but still i would lie awake next to her at night,

and when i didn't,

when she would call me in the morning

after swallowing a bottle of my aspirin

vomiting and blacking out on the linoleum the night before,

i would walk to her apartment

and listen to her speak in calculated sentences

and bring her to breakfast

and carefully tell her to stop scaring me.

(Brittany Wallace is 22. She lives in Ohio. She likes to watch documentaries about North Korea, stumble through the woods at night without a flashlight, and eat pizza.)"



There’s a clit in Clithero

just as there’s sex in Sexton

or a dick in Dickson and Dickman.


Trying to find cunt is hard

since I know of no name

with a cunt inside it (unless it’s Kuntz).


Of course there’s a cock

found in Hitchcock and Cocker

but I can’t find pussy


in anything except pussy cat or willow.

The closest I can come to fuck

is the fuck you find in Funck.

(Wiredwriter has appeared in several print and online literary journals, including FRiGG, Johnny America, Origami Condom, Calliope Nerve, The Legendary, Opium Poetry 2.0, Target Audience Magazine, Spoken War, Pulp Metal Magazine, Weirdyear and Fashion for Collapse and is the editor of his very own ezine, Negative Suck. If he could talk to an inanimate object, it would without doubt be his personal computer. One thing he is proud of doing this week is writing two pretty good poems. )



flushes of warmth on the face

pleasant prickles up the spine

hairs stand on end

goose bumps dot the surfaces

nipples harden

muscles relax then contract

heart beats faster

blood flows freer

breathier exhalations

a highway of skin

from lips to legs

crossed by a pillar of pulsating veins

a tower of sensitive flesh

yearning for touch

fingers, flirtatious and soft like a feather, work every

inch of skin, save that pillar

insatiable desire culminates and centers

in the back of the head

pleasure emanates from every nerve ending

nigh uncontrollable lust, barely contained

electric convulsions of delight race from hips to brain

tickling, groping, light touch then heavy massage,

the inner thigh, closer...

veiny protrusion now with the strength of rock, fueled by desire,

epicenter of bursting pleasure

screaming for friction

(Aaron Steely is a recovering lover/avid surfer/adventurer who excels when put in a room full of people he doesn't know. He enjoys aural pleasure often)

(Background by Alex Summers. He likes girls.)