Driver’s Side Airbag #44

email john

email ben

when the last prisoner is hung

sunday morning spent
waiting for the trains
to derail

waiting for the planes
to crash
while caffeine and
mediation pollute
my veins

fifteen thousand
disappeared children
scratch at my door
like some
salvador dali

i grow fat on
their bones
without apology

without guilt

my poems start to
bleed freely
where the sky scrapes
against the ground

where the crows wait
for hope to die

i sing
when the last prisoner
is hung

i eat his hands in a
landscape the color of
dirty glass

my teeth
sharp and black and
filled with the light
of god

john sweet

saw blade with a dick bigger than mine

pillows lie with their necks snapped
as sunlight pisses crazy jail-stripes on shadows

violence is everywhere even
a flower’s asshole


my head feels like the last pill
in a mad god’s vial.

not all
veins bleed white salt
as my lame birth
slaps plump.

Ben La Rosa

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