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Soaked forest floor proves to be the ultimate test Demanding intelligence, perseverance You saw the wood, chop the wood, dig a hole I strike the match Out of darkness a flame is held Jumping, glowing, desiring to consume Hold it down to the crumpled newspaper, scavenged, brittle needles and leaves Found under the skirt of a nearby tree We watch as the flame spreads, like the light of sunrise traveling around the ellipse of the horizon We breathe Huddled over our fragile flame We blow Inhale together Exhale together Feeding the fire air Filling the fire with life Like kissing and reaching for an inhale at the same time Your lips not touching, but so close to mine A satisfaction unlike any we could combine by touching This sacred act, so simple, yet so consuming Lust leaves my lips to be eaten by the growing flame No, this moment penetrates me deeper than flesh This moment, under a canopy, in a forest, at the far edge of a meadow, under a chorus of stars I am reminded of a flickering flame cast against the walls of a cave I am reminded we came from the dreaming of our ancestors My ancient bones have ached to taste the sweet musk of smoke In this soaked forest, my soul knows it is home We sit and silently watch the blaze dance We sit and silently enjoy the warmth we created
NATALIE RAE FULLER
Contagion As if I were sinking into the deep blue, my body swished and dragged, my mind plagued with want and thoughts. Haunts. Thinking about death. Optical contusions. Moving back and forth, moving back and forth. Engine rumble roars, pick my ear, flick the wax. Paralyzed by the fear. The fear. The fear. The thoughts I don't want to have. Playing a part convincingly. Shamanism and psychotherapy. Your lungs could explode. My eyes cave in. Blindness. Dark, shadows of dust, tornado springs up. Stale broccoli in the fridge. Can of beans, green bell peppers. I feel uncomfortable with the way this is going. I'm very anti. Not a coincidence. Not a conscious. By the end of the night, I will have died and come back to life. Getting down to the bottom of this pathetic lie.
Rodeo I left my socks at the rodeo. I took them off to do the do-si-do. Everything started moving real slow, I forgot them in the afterglow. The clowns make up dripped down from his face, from tears, from sweat, from blood. He didn't want to be there, jumping in barrels, performing tricks. He spent all those years in clown school, and he's drowning in debt. What's a clown supposed to do? He is ashamed of his shoes. Always bumping into things, they squeak when he walks. He can't take them off. He is tired of carpooling, With 40 other clowns. He is tired of pies and spritzer. He wants to be cool like the fire spitters. The clown covers himself in dirt and bullshit, takes a deep breath and dies.
Alexander White
hummingbird that old hummingbird at my ear, we play war in silence cards slap the table no one in the city forest speaks, all stare into the white light of blank screens caffeine-stimulated, hunting politely we play war like strangers for fake money hummingbird beats its wings eighty beats per second, I forget his name I forget my larynx, always forget my larynx in muscle memory, air passes through to speak something halfdead, a beetle-kil memory reproducing inside pines, peeled naked I'd hoped confession would echo against trees instead, it hollows eating itself as it wriggles through dead bark I reach out to untie him, he unties me imagine a hummingbird, suspended midair fast asleep Mackenzie packard
ROSE SUMMERS I think the sunlight that was coming through your window that morning Is better than all the other sunlight I've seen or felt It was resting on your back in strips Tentatively, knowing that you could move and scatter it at any moment Like the sunlight There was a little tension in me, A stil , silent wanting My eyes were on you the same way I've seen deer standing by the highway watching cars I remember them very vividly The loveliest imperfect shoulders I've ever seen The little moles, scratch marks softening from last night, I could feel the precise distance between us, But it stayed the same even when I moved my body closer to you You'l never read this, but I stil think about you.
@NI K KI N I C HOLSART
I’m afraid.... I'm afraid because now, when my thoughts run free as a child... they run to you. and that, that frightens me. only because, my love, you, this, it, has made me vulnerable, vulnerable to sweet sweet love indeed, but all the same vulnerable to pain, A feeling I've worked and cried to escape, And that, That is why I'm afraid. That far too familiar feeling of pain, My heavy heart stained in vain. I dont need the hurt, Too many times have I given my heart to those who didn't deserve, Poured my loving soul unto their cups For them to drink, but never return. And that, I wish for no more. So I'm scared.... Scared because... I'm not hiding from the truth. I see, in opening my heart right on up to you, And that's just what I'm not sure I want to do. Once again. Spill my love, To fill your cup, Only in the end, For me again, to lose? No, I've ran that path, Had all there is to have. Shelter me no more! I'm a man, I'd rather bite the bit, And take the hit. Hear from you that us is not the future that you wish. I'll move on along, down the road alone, The one path I truly know. I'll be ok. Though, my babe... Still I'm afraid, Afraid because... Because my love, Deep down, No, Is not what I want to hear you say.
ZALEN EVEREST
Block Writers : Hold down your spot, build dem broken blockZ, let go yo no monsters against, release the knife to cleanse, cut the funk up no sense, nonsense contents feeling finesse content, feeling a friend, feeling relief to speak my ends, watch them lookout liquid let them mend. Belief self taught manifests destinies like simon says, and sometimes I’m fucking glowing post dancing present dense, present yourself bless, perfect your disasters fame claim, thrill the master, kill it dastardly, anyways we all friends. I gots more love for my enemies than I know what to do with it, my trust truth sees through you so clues lucid, Lucinda licorice last life Lucas, past childhood where I met my maker and made more friends, back stab slick visions suspended mid air, I can taste the knife within you, don’t lose yourself you must stay tru, stay tru, slay fools, stay you, your gifts are plenty enough to fill the bellies we unfriendlies, bpd dbt dmt dream demons restless beast. I’ll bleed my residue surrender same asylum tree house oblivion, levitate to fill the void and see the visions, we holds our own weight our feelings are our own, we built our own space, I can follow my path but who wants to go home? Am night weasel repping lethal manikins, all code blooded reptiles bleeding and abandoned, watch we vanish, the gods tried to ban us, but we came back and demanded more guts, more love, more lust, more us!!! Friday chill, Teo cookin kabobs in the kitchen community meals more us, more love. Linoleum shine ima get mine, no such thing as try. My anthem set to prayers from a ruthless preacher, eyeball inner innisfree treat trick trap escape the black cat, meow, butterflies reverse into the most iller caterpillar, I’m a king I flame you, I claim truth, fang tooth, deranged the silly just to hear you laugh a little bit sick, with the sickness, moving with the sickness, renew the mutant bleed the freed far out filth focus. Hold down your spot, rebuild dem broken blockZ, can’t never catch me on the clock, too busy burning spots, bleeding outside the box, all day all day all day block writers we hold down
KBO CUTS
We have a moral imperative to arm our children in schools; public schools, private schools pre-school and after school. If necessary, arm the teachers because they need schooling too. It's our collective responsibility to arm our children and change this culture; arm them with skil s, Literacy, arm them with techniques, literally. arm them with esteem Teach them literacy. for themselves Teach intellectual literacy, yes. and those they meet. More importantly teach them emotional literacy. Before you interrupt me Them; with your fundamental rant, the non-foreign born, yes, Teach introspection non-refugee, the job of teaching values and self-reflection. non-alien, belongs to the parent. Responsibility, English speaking not l i e s and deflection. boys. And by proxy Teach awareness, And while we're at it, we've designated schools awareness of feelings, teach the collegiate swim team, to teach basic literacy; and emotions too. the football players, literacy in math Teach pause, the frat boys, so kids can count your change, the constructi nurture curiosity, on workers, literacy in reading free up openness, and the corporate executives so they'l know season the l e sson pl ans because how to follow orders, wi t h a dash of compassi on, the seeds of il iteracy NOT literacy in thinking more than a spri n kl e of rot into violence. which keeps them ever bleeding. We can consi d erati o n, end school violence, and dare we? end workplace violence, doses of personal integrity. end domestic violence, when boys learn So, yes, where their hormones end arm the chi ldren and their true manhood begins. to their teeth so the words that come out won't speak of grief. Teach humanity to the humans. We seem to have skipped that class which has created this heinous morass. Offense is the best defense. So if you find this offensive, sit with me, let's build bridges and pull down the dividing fences.
OFFENSE IS THE BEST DEFENSE
BRUCE STERLING
PHILIP TRAN
SPOET I am rhythmic heartbeat standing on strength feet but spew flies gross from my mouth I am sharp head wits and clean arm pits but the sloppy saliva sometimes slips I am moving muscles my adrenaline hustles but escaped digestion floods free I am focused eyes oh my legs they rise but you asked for the news not the weather I am teeth and guts I am dick and nuts but loogies a la bouche still sputter I am angel wings my fingers command all things but my words get deterred by drool dribble I am better than body there's no shit in my potty but what I say becomes bacteria spray Ah sprit spat splut! Burble gurgle glut! I'm sorry you got all wet I can't promise security Of always oral purity I was made both spit and poet
JONATHAN MONTGOMERY
My Spitpoet#2 Ted G. This is a poem in porch-boards and dark cracks that open. This is a poem that argues an about while facing a story and a telling. This is a poem that falls helplessly, squawking into grackles. I swear I’d tell you everything with the frayed cover on the outdoor waste basket, and that my heart is too slow for the old bark on the elm tree. My past has become a whole crowd in your memory; o flowered plastic, o knife of nature, yeah even unto my stuffed hoody and slippers. Though here it’s impossible to go wrong, the way I miss you makes me dumb, like “missing” is some mystical imponderable. But my position is untenable, as colored as pansies and whether it clears up later today. You have now taken my plans and Ted talks to the puddle on the porch. Getting through letting you through to me is like an image of my daughter through smoke. I’ve been reading Palestinian poetry. We Are—the exile. (you have my permission to publish this tear in the wind—let it rain)
THE SOCIAL MEDIA RESISTANCE WILL NOT BE TRENDING You will not be able to stay online You will not be able to know the latest stats or buzzwords. You will not be able to selectively judge what you claim to like. You will not be able to click “join cause” to join the cause. Because the social media resistance will not be trending. You will not be able to engage in armchair slacktivism. You will not be able to avoid action beyond a share. The resistance will not be on your Xbox live built into the secret settings menu. The resistance will not be on your news feed. Or next up on steam. Because the Social Media resistance will NOT be trending. The resistance will not be shown to you in emoticons. People will not be checking their tablets, phones or smart watches for updates. People are not going to hashtag this or clickbait that about some so and so movement. Because the social media resistance will NOT be trending. People will not click like or up-vote, retweet or pin. People will not share the event. People are already there. The journalists will come out of their fake news cage. Entertainment will no longer be confined to a web page. People are not going to know what you ate this morning, or the name of the DJ who is spinning the soundtrack. People will not have to scroll past your #nofilter sunset. Because the social media resistance will not be trending. People will not savagely judge the author for their avatar. People will not emotionally tear apart total strangers for being “n00bs.”
People won't repeatedly edit the wikipedia page to fit their agenda like corrupt politicians. The opposition won't even be able to bother blogging about it. By the time they finally catch up to our growing movement. They won't know our demographic any more. Psycho-analytics will be thrown to the wayside in favor of human complexity. Because the social media resistance will not be trending. There will be no revolution that will not be televised that will not be orchestrated for you to watch. There will be no “social media resistance” because everything in that google search is bunk. All the message boards were written by trolls to convince you the internet is your only friend. You will not be able to place a bid or buy it now. There will be no listicles like 'Here's 10 things you didn't know about The Revolution' or 'Click next. Click next. Click next. Click next. Click Next. Click Next. Click Next. Because the social media resistance will not be trending. The social media resistance will not go better with lobster dog, grumpy cat or dat boiii. Oh SHIT Waddup? The resistance will not be on a motivational poster. The resistance will not be captioned in an Impact! font or a Helvetica flavored meme. The social media resistance will not have an endless comment section ironically hating its self, blaming libtards and cafe hipsters. Because the social media resistance will not be trending. The social media resistance will not be trending. The social media resistance will not be trending. The social media resistance doesn't care.
@MAXTOAST
My Friend Fear Andrew LaCombe
Dark Alluring Powerful Haunting
A prison with no bars Master of my strings You made me settle for the endless nothing You made me blind to the void of what can be me A master of my imagination So eager to remind me of your looming presence Hungry for my sweet ambition and dreams Destroyer of my worlds Now I find, No ground beneath my feet A endless fall into a dark cosmic space Falling But maybe flying I open my eyes To see you You are small You are imaginary You are my reminder of how BIG I can be.
ANOTHER ONE ABOUT MY EX They told me to come out, so I tried and my mom thought that it was a lie. Why would I make up being Bi? And she said, "you're not gay. You're just high. Damn, so much hate. But then again, how do I debate? She's not wrong, I don't like to think straight. I'd just rather think with my chest. And my mom is doing her best. I don't love her any less and it's not a bad guess. I mean, my love life is a mess. Of course, what did you expect? Since birth, I've been so complex. I never know, what I'm gonna do next. When life gives you lemons... I call my ex. Or at least I text her, "Hey, let's hang out like we do. Today I want to hear from you. There is nothing that I'm trying to prove. And it's not like I'm trying to see you nude. Besides, tonight you're going home with some dude.
CHANGA
But until he picks you up, we can get dinner. We can talk about all the thoughts that linger while my hands are holding your fingers. And you can tell me about you inner self, your mind I want to hear what's in there. I don't judge everyone's a sinner. Yeah girl, own that Tinder. You are always more than I anticipated. You make all my emotions get activated. At first I love it and then I hate it. My mind is like all my relationships, it's complicated. You are a star, to a crazy day. It's not that's smart, but what can I say? I have a heart that loves to play. And you threw me in the rebound so hard, I went gay. But hey, I'm in a better place. I'm way past that phase, sure it took me days, and I was kinda dazed, but now I'm so amazed. I got out of that maze, and I learned the importance of space. Everyone should be free, no one should be caged. I want you to fly with a smile on your face. You have my attention, life is your stage. You can go fuck, I'm not gonna rage. I'm just going to stay here and stare at this page. I'm just going to stay here and stare at this page.
I walk on water, I bend air, breathe fire, Hold the ground beneath my feet how I desire, I couldn't be flyer, But sometimes I short circuit, need to rewire, But I got the right energy so, I just let my energy flow, And wherever we go, We know that it's love, Below and above, Errywhere at once.
JORDAN SORIN
On the bus I sleep When I sleep I often dream I'm not on the bus Jack Houston PYRE He is like the wood smoke bright and cold of eyes nose throat the scorching fire of the history of 'mine' o copal o ram dass Nick thabit
Pay me no mind save the cents you spent to send me to asylum and though it's quiet here my insides are riotous. Outside the facility grass grows like a fiber Wind cuts and Wind blows My brow beats my minds cusp. I now know the scent of insanity at its finest. My nose stuffs the air twixt it's tufts ruffles and scrunches, expels heaves of disgust. Even the air I breathe is as infectious as the pus the pads of my feet must steep in on the floor. Why must festering wounds always from me, demand more? Can't. Can't I I can't see my self. Why can't I see see myself. Why can't I find a mirror? Tell me what to see in the mirror, What to seek, What reflection? I can't find Why can't I Find Myself See Mirror Self See Mirror Help. Help me.
They say the 80s are coming back but not the way I wanted They made me real at the wrong time Miss days I’ve never seen Hate this future, want to climb Back half a century When your love was still free
CHECKERED VANS
Want the siren on my ship While he still knows a song to sing Want to taste history’s lips Catch him before he buys a ring Need that more than anything If I had only been around Would you do it all again? Why must pretty boys grow up Into pretty older men? Can you take me to Genesis With smooth and youthful hands? Years before I was alive Can you help me understand? Sometimes I hear the music Will you lead me to the band?
Will you dance one more time with me In your old, forgotten checkered Vans?
ZOE PLAITå
Never fit your golden lock Suppose I’m not the key Suppose I’m falling in the spring And you’re the sun beyond the sea I’ll never know your melody They say the 80s are coming back But not the way I wanted
Svengali These are not my demons that stir me in the night. These are not my demons, That haunt me when I awake. it’s You that torments me with morning sweats, waking to panic attacks I thrash and hold, thrash and hold thrash and hold these patterns…. torment. I kick the blankets into a bundle like a pack on a warrior’s back, ready and waiting for battle, my hands clench into fists and my heart breaks every morn that follows the setting sun. You always wanted me battle ready, but it was you who scared me more than The Fed, Cuz you didn’t care if I was fed by anything more nourishing than your Bullshit. Finally, there’s oxygen in the room hungry for words, convinced my bones they’d break without your leadership. but the truth I discovered through deep reflection, connection, and forgiveness, was you were the one who needed me. today I am steadily rising again. free from your insanity’s grip on my reality. subjecting me to the horrors of your demons. you expected me to pay the ultimate price the shame you feel, projected onto my own psyche. no longer crawling out of your abyss, i stand on my own two feet empowered in knowing who I have always been. I’m back on track my life - interrupted by your insatiable desire to dominate and inflict pain and double standards upon me is my own again.
LORNA SHANNON
ANNA BODDY
Music moves and makes people groove. Some prefer the slow jams, others love doing the Soulja Boy. There are many stars of music, some dead and gone yet immortal, some still here yet largely unheard. This is a poem about that head bangin' rockin' good time. Do you remember the magic of the mosh pit? The guitar was screaming . The lead singer was growling as if she were a demon from hell. I remember it well, the elbows and foreheads flying at my face, the righteous pain of the band sung out in seemingly unintelligible noises that seemed to come from the bowels of hell. My head was bangin' harder than ever, as was yours. In the darkness of the pit we spotted one another, moshed all night long until the stage lights went out. You said, “hey lets go get some breakfast.” The car ride was filled with the sounds of our favorite sub-genres of metal. The journey began with Metallica, Megadeath, Slayer and Lamb of God, the big four banging it out. Then you hit the Nu-Metal with a stunningly dark piece of Otep. I responded with Exhumed and Mastodon. You went symphonic on me and played Blind Guardian. You came up with Dragonforce and I responded with my words, “I LOVE THIS FUCKING MUSIC.” Your smile was dark and precious, gothic in nature, hiding an underlying sweetness and you said the magic words, “ROCK ON!” The message and theme I took from my earliest days of this musical pleasure. I kept rocking on even long after the night ended and I had done the walk of shame. I walked home thinking of our night blasting Cannibal Corpse on my phone, wondering if I would ever hear your voice scream in agony like the artist that night. At the same time just wanting to hear your voice Telling me the words that had formed on my mind, found itheir way to my lips and remained unspoken. Now I am broken. That night meant the world to you and I, or to me it seemed it meant that I had at last found love with another Metal Head... and now I just hope to mosh again with you.
Prayers to Recent Deities IRA LISS Oh, Dollar Dear Dolllar, Fly into my pocket a bit quicker than you fly out Dear Dollar, bring peace of mind Harvest my creative wizardry with every expenditure Oh, Dollar! Dear Dollar, Here I am between scarcity and abundance May I know peace.
In Palm NATE KARBANK its been so long and i havent got the smallest thought to say/ growing stronger and farther apart each day/ i hope they understand that this is what you wanted all along/ my heart beats steady to my solemn song/ all along you had me in your palm, my love cascading crimson who are they to call me wrong/ i pull for hearts lost within a fog, ill wait and turn into the tingling rain falling all day long/ my eyes sting my hands swell, im not ashamed but defying you hurts to hell/ you had me in your palm all throughout, two legends on a hill ive backed away this bout/ magenta and violet brush along the sky, i handed you my wings when you asked me to fly/ s o now i stand waiting for your call, the seas even stormy still tender when it draws/ your palm
“
Faggot”
It was an accident! I promise, just a joke. Mickey said it first (thank God for Disney). I knit myself (actually, I don’t knit) chain mail against my gayness. I mean, it’s not my gayness. It’s someone else’s. The gays are trying to make me gay, but they won’t win the war on my penis. They’re really waging war on my penis. I can’t get off anymore without thinking of the gays and that war they’re waging on my penis. All of them dripping sweat, covered in dirt and waging war on my penis. Once I think about it, though, I always cum, but only to prove to the gays I won.
WHEELER LIGHT
I am a universe. UNIVERSAL Mostly space with patches of bril iant light TRUTH: stars dying and galaxies being born meteors falling from unknown to known. PART 1 What I'm saying is I'm good at talking about myself without telling you anything about me. I once read that the most unattractive feature in a man is uncertainty and I realized then how ugly I must be to some people. With all my ideas dying at the same rate as my cells new ones being born half-formed smelling like the smoke and grease of old machinery. You see how I haven't told you anything about me? I can dance with the best fools if you catch me not thinking I can talk so small sometimes my words get stuck in my teeth. Or so big you can't see the Forrest for the smokescreen that fire caused. you don't know a thing about me. I can hide in humor half-crazed in the hallways of my brain. You don't get to look past my eyes I might not like what you find. You might fall into me like a waterfall half-drowned and I don't think there's room for more behind this curtain and I'm a half-made puzzle and I'm not waiting on anyone to complete me I'm just scattered pieces with a sense that maybe there's a bigger image here somewhere. So I can't let you in. My universe is just well-dressed chaos it's anarchy in a tophat I'm the brains connecting the two. I already told you I'm the man behind the curtain and i can't let you in. There are levers and buttons dragons in the machine. I am il uminated twice daily: sunrise, when I'm usually sleeping and sunset, when I'm usually working. but if you catch me right when the light hits the quartz in my caverns my marrow glows FORREST and casts rainbows on whatever is around. SPEAKS
though I pray” crushed bo tonics powdered tooth shredded spine keeping the sickness at bay keeping me holy for just another day though I pray, my demons never stray too far without consequence or the shaking behind again an opportunity to double my dosage pious lips pure from any sin recite hymns of blood of spirit of unvoiced desires all things you can swallow devour devout to divinity eternity to gain “
anymore myths
three more minutes until the sirens come calling again always leaving scratches on my skin and ink dripping from my eyes they keep telling me to collide they keep feeding me the tide and telling me to love the water two more minutes until the harpies come to collect their debt sewing pennies into my skin saving for a rainy day and it looks like the clouds are eating the sky looks like what is keeping me inside of myself is another toll for the dead to cross over and wouldn’t you know it, Achilles has enough heels to walk his own damn self to the gates of hell I’m not carrying anymore myths to the abyss and back again only to be left with a tapestry unwoven at the end of each day if my own way isn’t an epic story I still have one minute of breath left until the muses inspire my lungs to greatness.
YAELAED
to be
with: talk through a mountain of air, reach meet touch other ones’ eyes, (or just walk around — distance shorter than it seems) get
to
where -whothey are
every moment counts — toward something. even if no one knows precisely what the best we can do is receive equal amounts of time and space and, both, with honor.
JETHRO MC CLELLaN
III THIRD TIME’S A CHARM III 3 IS A MAGIC NUMBER, A SYMBOL OF HARMONY AND GOOD FORTUNE. THIS ZINE IS A PRETTY MAGICAL PROJECT, IN WHICH WE BUILD COMMUNITY FROM OUR ARTISTIC PASSION.
III THANK YOU TO ALL WHO HAVE SUPPORTED SPIT POET ZINE AND TO THOSE CONTINUING TO READ AND BE FED BY OUR WORDS. THANK YOU TO ANDREW LACOMBE FOR THE INCREDIBLE COVER ART FIND HIS WORK ON INSTAGRAM.
@CLIMBERDOODLE THANK YOU TO EVERYONE WHO CONTRIBUTED TO THIS 3RD VOLUME OF SPIT POET ZINE, AND PREVIOUS VOLUMES, YOU ARE THE LIFEBLOOD. FOLLOW US ON INSTAGRAM
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