Poem: What They Did

I don’t know what she’s thinking, circles and star wand

waving speaks volumes but not to me

because probably, I don’t know what it does

or did, garble roaring from beyond and behind recalling

poison prejudice and misting it around, but that’s only me

living in past fantasy short stories I scribbled

on bathroom walls, but prison shower brawls

are titlating so never mind because that’s what ignited

all of my phallus fulcrum tilting face first

into fantasy, so maybe that’s her too, maybe.

Her name was Samantha.


I describe what I am as parts and pieces missing,

that’s all there is really and you’re all just weird

about it, no never mind is more than I’ll go, thinking over

what quote unquote nature puts as my outline

in this reality but it’s only rules, so they can fuck me

over with a penis, but I am what I am and that’s all

that I am a woman is all that I know and I can’t

live this way anymore so I won’t, and that’s all they need

to know, is that I am a woman, and have ever been.

His name was Jeremy.


Jeremy and Samantha burning lake of laughter

fuels a fire, an ignition inferno expanding and licking

all the lips, in and out shimmy shammy and they both loved

the inner body, licking his and her arteries exploring

each and every option of all possible permutations,

but then he discovered what she used to be and he laughed

and said that he knew, and that they should do

what they were made to do and so they did.

They made love and it was cool.

Poem: What They Did

Sylvester (Volume 6)

I walked behind Sonia all the way to her house, and my eyes traced the lines of her back.  She chattered idly about this or that, as I responded drunkenly to every point she raised.  “Do you know any constellations?” she asked.

“No,” I said, because I’d barely seen the stars in my city-boy life.  “Why, do you?”

“No, I’m like you,” she paused, craning her neck as she inspected the sky.  “I’m a city girl, but I just kind of like the idea of it.”

I watched Sonia while she paused, with her hands in her lap, staring up into the sky.  “The idea of it?”

“I like the idea that the cave people were looking up at the sky,” she raised her hand above her head, pointing to a plot of imaginary dots in the sky.  “And they told each other, like, ooh, that’s a bear, that’s a deer.”

“I think people told ‘em to each other,” I paused for effect, “like a around the campfire and, I bet there were a lot of dirty ones.”

She laughed explosively, and I could feel my penis respond as it rubbed up against the inside of my underpants.  I knew she liked jokes, and the jokes I told especially, but I couldn’t believe that I really turned her on.  She slapped her own thighs as she nodded up and down like a metronome.  “Yup!” she said, patting herself lightly on the chest, “I bet there are a lot of dick constellations.”

We laughed and laughed, picking imaginary constellations out of the starless sky, pretending we saw vulgar forms.  Sonia pointed up at nothing above, “Look, there’s a constellation of a prostitute pleasing a man orally.”

“That one’s called Vicensia the Whore,” I said, keeping our game of dirty constellations going.

Sonia smiled and giggled as she continued the joke.  “Over there is Trompo, or man with anal beads.”

Her line caught me, as many of her previous lines had, just right, and I guffawed powerfully slapping myself on the knees.  “I see it!”  I pointed my finger up at the sky, tracing an imaginary figure.  “That’s where the legs come together, and then there’s a line going down the middle.”  I stood with her head next to mine, pointing up at nothing above us as our eyes followed my finger.  When our cheeks touched, I turned my head, waited for Sonia to look into my eyes, and planted another kiss on her lips.

She pushed me away, ending our kiss and holding me at arms length.  “I don’t know,” Sonia glanced at the ground.  “Don’t you have work tomorrow?”

She enfolded her left wrist in her right hand, waiting for me to answer.

Is this moving too fast for her now?  I didn’t know if I could interpret romantic signals, and I thought I might have skipped a step.  Is she worrying about whether I’m gonna spend the night?  Would she like me too?  “Do I have work tomorrow?  I don’t know.”  I trailed off, raising my knuckle to my chin in consideration.  “Whatta you think?”

It was the best thing I could think of, leaving it up to her.  Sonia clapped, and brightened with a smile that showed her teeth.  “I think you can call in sick tomorrow, that’s what I think.”

She folded her arms over her chest and mimicked a schoolmarm stalking the grounds during curfew-check.  Her pace quickened and she kept her eyes forward, anxious, I assumed, to get me back to her place and have her way with me.   All my sexual fantasies of powerful women leapt into my mind at once, from the hot teacher to the stepmom and the babysitter.  I searched the catalog of masturbatory tableaus in my mind, and selected one of my favorites: the hot nurse.

I imagined Sonia, wearing a wispy paper apron, stopping by my room, saying it was time for a sponge bath.  It was only a moment before my penis was fully erect.

I guess it had been a while since I’d had an accidental erection because when I first felt my penis stiffen I had the thought that something was wrong with my pants.  It’s an odd sensation, the feel of a boner on the inside of a pair of jeans.  At first this sensation made me reflexively nervous, but then I beamed with pride and excitement.  I could still get an incidental boner, and I was about to use this one for its intended purpose.

“Okay,” Sonia said, clapping her hands together as if to clean her hands of chalk.  “Well after we fuck, you can go, but I’ll ask you to be quiet, my tenants get pissy if you wake them up.”  I grinned

Sonia turned up the sidewalk heading to her front door, but before she reached her front step I reached my hand out and grabbed at her left shoulder.  “Listen, I. . .” I don’t know exactly what it had been my intention to say.  I was going to say that I could call in sick the next day, and that her face had awakened in me a passion that had long been dormant, but instead I just pulled her in and gave her a long kiss.  I believe my point came across.

This kiss was not nervous, as the peck I’d given her in the bar had been.  I closed my eyes and attempted to feel her heartbeat through the skin on her cheeks.  My right hand felt the coarseness of her hair as my palm rotated around the back of her head.  I remembered all the romantic stories I’d known, and thought that this was the start of our own narrative.

I held the kiss for as long as I could, forcing her to bring it to a stop, which she did.

When I gradually opened my eyelids, I could see that Sonia’s eyes were already wide open, and the expression on her face was one of bemused curiosity.  “Well, okay,” she grinned and chuckled briefly.  “Okay fine you don’t have to go after you’re done, I was just saying—“  I kissed her again, I might even have opened my mouth a little towards the end of it.  In response to this expression of passion, I felt her hands press on my shoulders and push me to an arms length away from her.  “Okay now, let’s save it till we get inside yeah?”

She seemed to respond positively to the attention I was giving her, so I kept at her as she opened the door, kissing her neck and pawing at her limbs.  She chuckled, half heartedly keeping me at a distance until she entered her home.  I followed, pursuing her and kissing her deeply.  It is no mystery what came over me, but still I was surprised by its insistent power.

We worked our way up the stairs and into bed, wasting no time getting to it.  We had sex, and it was in a word awesome.  I mean awesome not in the sense that it was simply fantastic, but in the sense that it inspired awe in me.  I marveled at every sensation, enthralled at the way I could feel myself lost.

This was the first time I’d had sex in several years, so as it began, though I was rapturous, I was also extremely nervous.  What if any of the myriad things that could go wrong went wrong?  I thought about all these terrible things that could happen, from premature ejaculation to erectile disfunction, and when none of them did happen, I lost myself in pleasure.

Sex had always appeared in my life thus far as an unpleasant memory.  I could not relive any of the times I’d had sex without also remembering the pain it had brought with it.  I couldn’t remember my first time, a fumbling piece of ecstatic excitement I’d experienced with Lee-Ha, the Korean exchange student I’d known in college, without also remembering the moment in front of her dorm just two days later when she told me she’d prefer to stay friends.

I cursed myself all the way home after that.  Raging against myself and the entire world.  But all that pain was forgotten the instant I could feel Sonia’s skin, energized with life as we surged together into an active bliss.

In the middle of it, the part of my brain that constantly chirps at me with all-consuming criticism shut off.  Immediately afterwards, I was blissful as I lay next to Sonia, closing my eyes and drifting away on wings of gratification.


It wasn’t until long afterwards, when we were lying next to each other, that she spoke to me again.  “You gonna call in sick?”

“Oh, yeah I should,” I groaned, coughing through the end of my sentence.  “But I haven’t missed a day in a couple years, it should be fine.”  As I said the word “fine,” an enormous grin broke over my lips, and I felt truly happy.

“Yeah me too,” Sonia said, “I don’t have any pressing appointments this morning.”  She beamed at me.

“Good,” I said, stretching my arm over her chest and letting it lay.  Something about the way Sonia said “morning,” caught me, and I sat up like lightning.  I suddenly realized that my mother might be dead.  “Oh shit, I gotta make a call.”

“What?  Why?”  Sonia asked these questions in a way that seemed aggressive rather than inquisitive.  Though I might have been offended by the brusk directness of her questions, but I wasn’t.

This was excellent, or at least I considered it such, as this meant that Sonia had forgotten I live with my mother.  I realized that this fact would allow me to construct whatever reality I wanted for myself.  I thought about what would be most endearing and least pathetic.  “I gotta walk my dog.”  It wasn’t until I said this that I realized it made no sense.

“Dogs can’t answer phones,” Sonia said, cocking her eyebrow up suspiciously.  “You’re married, aren’t you?  I won’t be mad.”  The look on her face was disappointed, and as I looked on it I recalled from my own past what it had felt like to carry such an expression.

“No, I just, um—“

“I remember, you live with your mother, I’m just asking’ why you need to make a call.”  Sonia cackled at me, and it warmed my heart.  That she remembered such a piddling detail from our prior conversation boded well, I thought, and it further indicated she didn’t mind my living situation.

She’d asked why I wanted to call my mother, and the truth was that I didn’t, but I felt like it was something I should do.  “I don’t know, I guess I was worried.”

She beamed very slightly.  “Worried about your mom?”  She looked up at me, stunning me with her eyes as a full smile plastered on her lips.  “That’s sweet, wanna go home?”

I didn’t want to go home, at least not yet.  I looked around Sonia’s bedroom thinking about where I was and how I’d gotten there.  I pulled the phone out of my pocket and held it up to my ear.  As I selected “Home” from the contacts list and pressed call, raising the phone to my ear.  I heard three monotonous, long, chiming tones before I heard the answering machine message.

“This is the Forsyte residence, leave your name and number.”  Hearing my mother’s voice, recorded in the machine’s database, made me wish that she didn’t drink as much as she did.  I had forgotten how she could sound.  “Hey mom, I spent the night at Sonia’s and I think I’ll call in sick today, so I’ll see you in the early afternoon.  Love you, maybe we can play Scrabble later like old times.”

Sonia chortled, mockingly.  “Gonna play Scrabble with your mommy later?”

“Yeah, yeah I might.”  The moment I spoke this, I realized what a laughable concept it was.  To think that my mom would be cogent enough to play a game of Scrabble, and willing to play a game of Scrabble, was a laughable presumption.  “Ever since I was a little kid, we’ve always liked Scrabble.”

Sonia lay her hand over my shoulder, “Aww, that’s sweet.”  This judgement of Sonia’s, for once, did not seem mocking.  It seemed like she actually thought it was touchingly adorable, which may have made her envious of my relationship with my mom.  This prediction that the two of us would join in a game of Scrabble was a lie, as I assumed she would likely be passed out.

I don’t know why I lied in this way.  I had nothing to gain by convincing Sonia that my relationship with my mother was healthy, but still I attempted to do just that.  I scanned her bedroom with a cursory glance, and could not find a picture of either of her parents.  “How is your relationship with your parents?”

Immediately after I had asked this question I regretted it.  Her eyebrows were knit hard above her eyes as they stared at me.  “Why?”

I stumbled, struggling to quickly decide what I would say.  “Uh—um,” Sonia seemed annoyed.  “I don’t know, curious I guess.”

“Bullshit,” she said, leaving her mouth hanging open after she did.  “That’s a weird question to ask, you gotta know.”  She sat up on the bed, swung her legs over the side, and wordlessly stepped from her bedroom into her kitchen.  I followed her with my eyes, and I could watch from my position on the bed as she opened the fridge and took out a bottle of clear liquid.  She poured a bit of the clear liquid into a glass and then coupled it with the best part of a can of RC Cola.

“Hey could you make me one too?”  She looked back through the doorway at me on the bed and flashed me a grin.  As she poured my drink, I called Harvest Time and told Guadeloupe I wouldn’t make it to work that day.  As I hung up the phone and slid it back into my pocket.  Sonia walked back into the room and handed me a glass of black liquid.

“Calling in sick?”

“Yeah,” I said, pausing as I sipped my very strong drink.  It only took a second for the drink to give me the courage I needed to dig deeper into my inquiries.  “So what’s up with you and your parents?”

“I don’t know, fuck, they’re dead.”  After she spoke, Sonia pulled deeply from her own glass, gulping as she did.  After she pulled the glass until it was empty, then lifted it from her lips and placed it on the kitchen table.  She stood leaning against the table with both her palms, then looked at me and changed the subject.  “So you wanna fuck again, or not?”

I was shocked, as I thought I’d been at least annoying her, and may have been insulting her, but before I even realized what she asked I responded: “Sure I do.”

Though perhaps not as entrancing as the first, the second time I fucked Sonia was at least as rapturous as the first.  Twice in one day?  I was amazed by my own sexual prowess, and after a time both of us drifted back to sleep.

Sylvester (Volume 6)

The Fatalist: Chapter 2

The body that had once belonged to Gregory Vitrola, and now belonged to The Fatalist, slumbered peacefully.  He’d summoned a thick matt of algae onto one of the larger lagoons in Overland Swamp and used it as a mattress.

Floating above the surface of the water, buoyed by his bed of life, The Fatalist slept deeply.  He snored loudly and moved frequently with swift fluidity.  He rolled over, he stirred, he yawned and made smacking sounds with his lips.

He dreamed, but his dreams were unlike any he’d had while he was human.

When he’d been human his dreams were filled with judging eyes and pointed fingers, as he was surrounded and accosted by faceless authority figures.  Gregory Vitrola never felt in place, and always as though he needed to escape.

Now that he was The Fatalist, his dreams were peaceful.  Within his dreams, The Fatalist ceased to have a single identity, but was simultaneously each member of a growing family.  His new family comprised of every living thing in the swamp, and in his dreams he was all of them simultaneously.

Gregory Vitrola’s first day as The Fatalist was spent dreaming.


During just his second day as The Fatalist, Gregory Vitrola was able to feel what it was like to have sex.  Laying on a puddle on a lazy early evening, The Fatalist startled to life, suddenly drawn to the southwest.

He loped through the swamp, smoothly hurtling tree roots and dodging piles of muck, becoming more familiar with the lay on the land at each step.  He could see, or rather sense by the heat it generated, a car in the distance.  It wasn’t moving but the engine was running.

Roughly fifty yards down a trail from The Fatalist, an automobile had been idling for close to an hour, and its windows open.  The car’s radio was on, playing an antiperspirant ad very loudly, and apart from the car a blanket was laid out on the ground.

At the center of the blanket lay a couple; they caressed each other smoothly and confidently.  The Fatalist could feel these lovers’ passion in all his cells, and he experienced the intensity of their feeling.

The Fatalist wrapped himself in these lovers’ ecstasy, drawing closer and closer, until he could almost actually see them over a rock.  He couldn’t see much of the actual scene, but seeing just the sharp repetitive motion of it, was enough to put The Fatalist in a joyful slumber.

Such was The Fatalist’s sensitivity to the swamp that he shared in every birth and every death.  As he grooved on the passion of these ecstatic libertines, each thrust was an intensifying pulse of pleasure.  As he lay with his head on a rock looking up at still clouds, he could feel both lovers climax, and then lay on each other, smooching and rubbing.

After they’d finished, each of them lay in a near-comatose state of relaxation.  The Fatalist took this opportunity to creep within a stone’s throw of the couple, inspecting them intently.  They were not attractive, or at least would not have seemed attractive through human eyes, but their aspect displayed serene joy.

They seemed to be well into their fifties, and each had a poorly maintained, lumpy body.  The way they giggled and the love he could feel through the grass underneath them made The Fatalist think they were an old couple, and to fuck among the trees was likely a tradition of theirs.

The Fatalist, when he’d been Gregory Vitrola, had not believed in love.  He remembered figuring that love might be conceptually possible, but that for him it was only a dream.  This was a large part of the reason he’d attempted to kill himself.  He now felt what love was or could be, and he closed his eyes.

What the Fatalist did not know was that these lovers were each cheating on their spouses, and what he’d interpreted as partners beautifully giving of themselves would be considered by many to be illicit and gross.

These judgments of things as “right” or “wrong,” “pleasant” or “unpleasant” didn’t matter to him.  What mattered to The Fatalist was the expression of life at its most unrestrained, and he loved it.

As he lay a stone’s throw away from the couple, watching these adulterers’ rhythmic motion, he could sense through the feel of the road a vehicle speeding towards the couple.  He looked down the road, and he saw in the distance a white midsize sedan accelerating towards them, and within moments it was roughly a block away.

The couple, having noticed the car speeding to them, were panicked and dressing rapidly.  They were not nearly fast enough.  The white car pulled over, and a slender brown-haired woman burst out the driver’s side door in a rage.  “Robert!” the woman screamed, sounding shocked and enflamed.  “Samantha what the fuck!?”

Samantha immediately started wailing and sobbing, but The Fatalist could tell she wasn’t really crying, because underneath her the ground tasted no salty droplets.  Her scream cut through the trees and made The Fatalist shiver, and her horrid mock sobs made him feel rotted on the inside.  “I don’t—I don’t—“ she licked her palm and tried to use the moisture to make it look like she’d been crying.  “I don’t know!”

She sobbed loudly while Robert stood up as he pulled his pants on.  “Baby baby baby it just happened, I swear to god it just happened and I’m sorry.”

“Robert,” the woman said in a steady voice.  She reached into her purse and pulled out a snub-nosed revolver.  She pointed it at Robert.  “I’ve had it with your lies and I’m going to kill you if you don’t tell me the truth.”

Samantha was almost fully dressed when she shot upright and stood holding her hands as far out in front of her as she could.  “Jill, Jill, what are you doing?”

Jill shot into the ground next to Samantha and it hurt me like a red-hot poker into the soft meat of my thigh.  I bellowed so loudly I believed the entire swamp could feel my pain.  As I screamed I picked a handful of dirt off the ground and squeezed until it was a solid ball of soil.  After throwing this ball up into the air and catching it myself a couple times, I hurled it at the gun in Jill’s hand.  The ball of dirt covered in green, foamy sludge stuck the gun Jill had fired against the tree to her left.

The short, immensely dramatic scene The Fatalist had been watching was brought to an immediate halt, as all three humans searched the area for clues about what the hell had just happened.

As all three of their gazes fell onto The Fatalist and their jaws dropped, he erupted with a shout that shook the trees.  “NO GUNS!”

The threesome scurried as fast as they could into the car Jill had driven to them in and their exhaust backfired as they were shot down the path out of the swamp.  The clearing where the gross adulterers had been was now littered with Robert’s shirt, Samantha’s bra, a picnic blanket, a condom wrapper, and an empty bag of potato chips.

Using vines of his own creation, The Fatalist hung all these items from the trees that surrounded the expanse the lovers had just occupied.  He knew all the people would start to talk about him now, and they would come looking.

“Oh shit,” The Fatalist said to himself, softly.

The Fatalist: Chapter 1

The Fatalist: Chapter 2

A New Dawn: Chapter 1

Volume 1:

Black Friday

I woke today to hordes charging the mall fortress

clawing at walls and breaking windows teeth first

getting at the sweet moist meat as it screamed “they got in!”

we called it rage disease and imagined a possible antidote

we might have developed a vaccine but it was too late


two weeks of peace before hell broke and came to roost

and now we’re passing out reloading and scribbling desperation

empty soul cages come and come In waves to the barrier

introduced with a thick wet thud and then the scraping

we found a stash of tranquilizers but sleep is dangerously sad


filled with the screams inside and out of each of us

and I don’t care that the laughter’s gone I have nothing

I saw my wife eat my child so I shot her in the head

in my son’s crib was only a dark red squishing

look in the mirror and scream what the difference is


I decided to blow it up and send everyone home at once

but there’s no way so I sunk and wept a river for everyone

can’t even do myself staring down a rifle barrel screaming

saying they need me but I’ll be dead soon and so will they

everyone is dead when they’re born and alive when they die


we created hilarious irony when when we did whatever we did

probably an environmental cause they all said when it began

whatever we did to make these things we should let them eat us

that would be a fitting punishment for whatever it was we did

but we have to survive so I pick a post and stand watch


in academic reference books it will have a term henceforth

“Disciplinary Injury” is what they call self-castration

if you’re turned on by a zombie then it all must come off





A puddle of tears on the ground I looked up into the sky

The sun hurt my eyes so I buried them in the floor

“my family’s dead too” a deep female voice utters above

Angelica is a survivor like me sitting in the dirt to my left

“they died before the zombies came in a house fire”


I said “lucky bitch” because I didn’t need to hear that

pouring her tragedy over me when I have my own to admire

then she stunned me with her eyes and asked “wanna fuck?”


“no” because I’m not the guy and you’re not the girl for it


“so you’re staying loyal to a shadow” she said and smiled


“I can still see her holding my son” I lied without knowing why

I can still see them but then Angelica got up to walk away

I said “wait” and noticed tears streaming down my face


Day 205 and hell started to feel just like home

Angelica’s a fixture in my life now of love and comfort

her eyes are a kind grandmother’s because she is one

her husband and children and grandchildren are all dead


swept away in a fire years earlier her tears have scabbed

she is a pillar of strength in all the wailing masses

I will never forget my wife but I am in love with Angelica

I love her strength and her beauty and the flow of her body


end-of-the-world sex is exhilarating and enlivening

I really should write a book about it but I never will


no one talks about fictitious ambitions anymore

art was the first casualty of the new way of life

art takes time and there’s not enough time anymore

all there is to do now is to live and fuck and die




we the survivors of the end call ourselves holdouts

holdouts tell themselves life is a choice they’ve made

life is a choice and not at all an easy one anymore


suicides are a normal every day kinda thing now

all who kill themselves are thrown to the zombies

lowered from the wall slowly and eaten as they go


we call them cowards and we hate their bones

they die without honor and are afforded no dignity

our leader Angelica pisses and spits on their bodies


she is our pillar of strength and our master of destiny

our struggle is aimed to a pinpoint by her vision

we will demolish the old and introduce the new


and I will stay by her side through the rebuilding

my role is tertiary and I hold no real influence

I will be privy to the birth of a survivor society

A New Dawn: Chapter 1