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  • Jimmy Broccoli

Spotlight: Mike Zone

Hi All


It's one of my favorite days to bring you the work of someone I find highly talented. Today, on the Jimmy Broccoli page and website, it is with great admiration (towards the writer) to share with you the poetry of Mike Zone.


Many months ago I learned of Dumpster Fire Press (Mike Zone, Editor in Chief) and have discover the work of many fine poets through the press. Mike publishes the voices of poets who write about what they know and have experienced - often raw and exposed, and unaltered/uncensored verse - which, as you know, is among my favorite kinds of writing. Mike's own work is exceptional and I've been closely following it for months.


Mike in his own words:


Mike Zone is the Editor in Chief of Dumpster Fire Press, the author of Fuck You: A Fucking Poetry Chap, Shedding Dark Places (almost), One Hell of a Muse , as well as coauthor of The Grind. A frequent contributor to Alien Buddha Press and Mad Swirl. His work has been featured in: Horror Sleaze Trash, Better Than Starbucks, Piker Press, Punk Noir Magazine, Synchronized Chaos, Outlaw Poetry and Cult Culture magazine.


Here are three poems by Mike Zone - and I know you'll love them as much as I do! ______________ Bad sex (Lipstick mirror redux)


Last night really pitch black taking us to a bleeding sky sun rise


it could have been the pot


or whiskey


possibly the beer


we played cards and watched documentaries on castles and the Spanish civil war


you always pulled out the weird toys in an effort to convert me


claimed I was too vanilla


you always wanted to bend over the bed with the windows open with subzero temperatures knowing my dick never quite worked right in the cold


it was mostly uncomfortable with you


the inside of your vagina overly pierced


like a razorblade suitcase


you’d choke me


slap me


call me a “fuck” or “son of a bitch”


discovered my temporary secret kink


mostly it was awful and kind of bad


rushed


but there were good nights


when one of us would get blackout drunk


only not to remember


you ever so gleeful “You wrecked my pussy! Let’s get breakfast.”


Only to pass out cross-eyed


denying the validity of my semi sober recollections


shortly after


only to pass out again


wanting to cuddle


when I awoke


there was that oh familiar lipstick message on the mirror


I’ve written about


So many times already


“Some poet


Can’t get it up”


It was a common problem


With you


With me


Guess it never worked out


quite right


true romance


kink and rage


not included ______________ Reading Li Po near the end


I want to make love to you on the moonscape illuminated sand of an Asian beach


COLD MOUNTAIN


faraway in a different region


but we can still pretend it’s there


snow-blind gods smiling down upon the last real passion play


there’s a reason for not dying inside ______________ New occasions for sin


Here’s a story


about the nature of evil


and the absolute goodness of god


we used to hangout downtown


hit the hobby shop for comics


get grape soda and beef jerky from the party store


bragging about


fucking


this bitch


that bitch


we were in eighth grade


listening to Nirvana


casting comic book movies


becoming comic strip gods


we didn’t have time nor the mental aptitude yet to contemplate Thomas Aquinas’ natural theology


god is everywhere


the grass, the trees, the concrete, big bang cosmic ray afterbirth and your shameful ejaculate


SIN- an action, an intent, a thought, without god


a burgundy rode up on us


laughing girls


we all would shamelessly lust over


later on


in our rooms


in the one-hundred comforts of solitude


they pretended to fight over us


asking what school we went to


if we wanted to party


did we have any beer?


laughing all the way


knowing we were too young


and embarrassed for it


we skirted their questions


gave fake names


made fun of each other


tried talking shit back


until Justin


pulled down his pants


whipped himself out


yelling


“Let’s play dick-out!” a couple of them screamed in horror


the rest laughed


they sped off


we never them saw again


nor did we hang out with Justin again


after he put his dick through a bagel


we made our laws without god


but god was always there


who knew?


apparently, not Justin


Image: Created by very talented UK artist Paul Warren.


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