Off the Rails or Kill john compton…

“I’m going to kill john compton who doesn’t use capital letters.”

Is a phrase I uttered over the summer as I agonized over the most jacked-up word file of all time, while working with a different publisher at the moment.

Presenting the second edition of john compton’s intimate and unflinching poetry collection POEMS: TRAINRIDE ELSEWHERE…originally shepherded by the dearly departed Bill Corbett of Pressed Wafer Press, Dumpster Fire Press is honored to bring readers the second edition of a poetry collection not be missed for the first and experienced again and again.

POEMS: TRAINRIDE ELSEWHERE… is definitely off the rails and takes you to a whole set of tracks and I’m stopping with the railroad references right now, it’s my own choo-choo-choice!

Ha! That was terrible, someone other than john compton, kill me!

There’s a history between friend and fellow poet john and I. Both starting off as editors for Concrete Mist Press and going into two radically different directions with a multitude of indie presses in the technical and artistic aspects, TRAINRIDE kind of brings us full circle as it is one of the four books including: THE GRIND, John Doyle’s LEAVING HENDERSON COUNTY and R. Keith’s HONEYDEW: THE CORRECTED TEXT that initiated the genesis of Dumpster Fire Press, which I’m sure by now people have somehow been able to cobble together.

Essentially this marks the end of an era and allows DFP to fully fly unfettered, as it ever wasn’t and as much as I want to relay the ongoing, tediously conversations regarding: line spacing, file formats, table of contents alterations…I’m not because everyone would believe john and I are secretly in love and the last thing I need to do arouse ire of a jealous husband.

So social awkwardness out of the way…I’m going to let the poet himself speak as well as the exquisite art of cover artist Megan Merchant.

Art by Megan Merchant

[sonnet]: we fucked like drugs

we fucked, null, in the shower

until i bled. his huge cock

embarked through me—bore power

that i craved—his hands were locked

to imprison me. he pumped,

briskly, painful ecstasy

& i screamed & begged & felt

the great desire he dealt

like i was a whore, sleazy,

& deserving it. he cummed in my ass a blast of cream

so hot it burned within me—

he held me in that hushed dream.

his cock softened inside me.

Check out the link below, and as irritating as it could be, it was a twisted pleasure to work with john and an honor to follow Bill Corbett of Pressed Wafer. This is what small press is all about, not always about your own voice but continuing to render certain other voices are heard as well.

Also we’ve got some cracking manic things heading your way in April…Poetry Month…the Cruelest Month.

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