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.
(for giulio) Devastation into open dreams The hardboiled ones wander against karma dogs might robots on acid an awakening prevails from psychopathic slumber ah, to truly see again lacking a sense of vertigo anticipating nothing but the joy of infinity I’ve seen the color of dirt underneath a cracking day-break sky struggling with the bleeding night
Trying to whistle at the lady on a wire
(to a certain lady on a wire) She said Son, you ain’t got no game if them bullets don’t whistle I can’t whistle but bang-bang anyway if I were a cop I’d arrest her for stealing my heart instead I just got shot DOWN
got me all kinds of wired
(to the lady on the wire#2) wings like switchblades like some back alley dark angel something about doing lines off her back have to believe it’s more than just jack-jawing word spasms quivering from your poisonous vibrations the cleansing type of toxicity I want you to take me to Razorville to remember the life I took in the tub tepid water the life I kept taking over and over until I realized it was there along with you where the graves of lions’ pride will finally be left in the sand rendered untraceable the lady extends her hand bringing me back to the moments when my mother first got her sight back I look away