Naked by Rich Hillen

I’m naked in the middle of a department store and no one notices. It’s not a department store. It’s a Grocery store. It’s not a grocery store. It’s a sex club. A department store of sex. A grocery store of sex. Still no one notices me. The room is filled with cocks. Cocks in hands. Cocks in mouths. Cocks in pussies. Cocks on guys and cocks on girls. Cocks. Cocks. Mine blends in with the rest.

I dig a shallow grave in the corner to sit and die in as I watch couples, singles and transsexuals living their lonely morbid lives. I accept my fate.

There’s an old man rolling around on the floor begging for someone to piss on him as he touches himself.

There’s men whipping women and women whipping me. Tied up. Tied down. Begging. Crying. Laughing. Moaning.

Men on women. Men on men. Women on women. Trransexuals and transvestites doing everything in between.

I grab my cock and start my own memorial and pay tribute to my surroundings. I get turned on and laugh to myself when I see the fully clothed tourist girls clinging to their men frightened by the scene. They’ve never seen such debauchery in real life. I have. This is the highlight of my life. I think.

A woman walks up to me in a short tight dress and offers a hand. It’s not a woman but looks like a woman so I give myself to her. My cock is hers. She has her own but takes mine. I abandon everything until I cum. The party’s over for now.

At least I was a part of something, someone for a moment. I crawl back in my grave.

Rich Hillen Jr is an author, artist and performer. He is famous for The Serial Killer Coloring Book from the late 90′s. Hillen has since made a string of horrible full length and short films such as Serial Killers Gone Wild, Night of The Groping Dead and Welcome Home. He also founded Crawlspace Records mostly to promote his former band The World Famous Crawlspace Brothers; acoustic songs about serial killers. While he fights his sex, drugs & rock n roll addiction on a daily basis, Hillen is also working on a novel called: Yellow Socks chronicling his relationships with his paranoid schizophrenic mother and the various other mentally ill women throughout his life.

Crash Dive by Barry Titus

Crash Dive

Viral lightening burnt this shirt green
for a second a day.
Radar stations recorded
a six thousand feet per second descent.
The wounded in the damaged boat
a rope dragged under water
at night past Japanese enemy guns
to a beach.

Narcissus bleeds the darkest blue,
platinum carpet and overcast.
Divorce,
son in tears,
until you see a lawyer.
At dark
over a bay of water
lost control
in the haze.
“…. another student to court,
a bad influence on his ‘son’.”

Assay the shade when it alters your arms.
He’d heard the words,
an urge as a phrase,
so the impulse must be pulled
by the CIA.
Silence yourself,
shrivel,
an all afternoon session,
five a week with Jeff Goldberg
who orders small, and no answers.
“I’m not qualified.
I don’t really want to go.”

Served papers
have locked your child’s breast
behind a lawsuit letter
two hundred a piece
and words you break.
Pots and pans weep chrome roads.
Gongs slash screams and bells.
Staircases circle.
The sky piles stone.
Insults cut the skin away
to eat the meat
stomach and bannister radium.

If guitar with the guy over the intercom
changed body or arms
they stopped to reeducate
until he disowned
and reported their version.
Go for, jam out,
any drama role
can cause restless and impulsive
and then the flank
ulcers kiss purple and rove down.

The scorn of God
if film star Peter Lawford
who listened to
and stared at the butler
was weak and false.
Then come the dark and unsure
with feelings.
The Navy robot
salvaged the broken fuselage.
Military law will deduce the causes
and transcribe the duress,
lessons
he had to not look aside during.

He saw with the wholeness
of the alone
when love hasn’t smashed it.
Focus on him
immobilized eye and ledge
like the spine of a tame cat,
even him who hated
the shallowly scooped angles.
His feet lifted gnawed latex
by the tongue and cloth laces
to pound up wires to loudspeakers.
Above the banquet tables and seat rows
unnoticed cathedrals shaded the ceiling.

Unspoken self
to be washed off
drained not even by phosphorous
until mute upon muteness.
The breathless add a wall
as the door to your cellar.
Stand, you can steal each skin cell
through stillness to listen.
Have no knowledge of what comes next
like paint on your pants
when you must not glance at a guest.

When the morning moisture is glazed off
the ripest green grapes
are the first seen,
hands full over the wagon side.

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Barry Titus is a 71 year old poet and writer born in New York City. His publications include: the novel, Masks and non fiction,The Dalai Lama Caper. Barry has spent the last seven years in Holland.

Fuck Your Words by Rich Hillen Jr

I want to fuck your words. Never mind your body, your face, your personality. Never mind you. It’s your words I want.

Press myself against your words and have my way. Take your words. Kiss, lick, caress, fondle, molest and taste your words. Fuck your words. Bend your words over the chair and give it to them. Hard, fast, wet and deep inside your words.

Obsessed since I first read them I dream, eat, sleep, love and lust your words. Day and night your words cut through my mind and my body like a sharp scalpel. Incision after incision I try to live my life but your words won’t let me. I love your words.

I want to fuck your words. Tie them up. Whip them. Rape your words.

I want to hold, cuddle and spoon your words. Sleep, eat and drink with your words. Live with your words.

It’s not you. It’s never been about you. It’s not what you do or how you act. It’s your words that excite me. Fascinate me.

Still what I want the most is to fuck your words.

I want to fuck your words.

Rich Hillen Jr is an author, artist and performer. He is famous for The Serial Killer Coloring Book from the late 90′s. Hillen has since made a string of horrible full length and short films such as Serial Killers Gone Wild, Night of The Groping Dead and Welcome Home. He also founded Crawlspace Records mostly to promote his former band The World Famous Crawlspace Brothers; acoustic songs about serial killers. While he fights his sex, drugs & rock n roll addiction on a daily basis, Hillen is also working on a novel called: Yellow Socks chronicling his relationships with his paranoid schizophrenic mother and the various other mentally ill women throughout his life.