That small cop

Caught the ‘gentle giant’, 

The coy boy

In dark garments,

Thought the gate to triumph

Passes by the show,

Selfying the missionary moment

Turned the cowboy into a vampire

A nasty nymph

That little cop

Knew not what this dark spot

Was capable to do

The harbinger of the pop

Seized the best shot

Not the first

Won’t be the last

Discriminated against, in States,

Where unity dissipates

“I can’t breathe!”

Three words have crossed borders,

Penetrated hearts before minds

Shook hands

Not sterile,

Traversed contaminated suburbs

Still wearing the surgical mask,

The words have become a rallying point

Because they were true

Now you can breathe

As the Heavenly law

Has darkened your killer’s face

Whose psychosis is infantile,

Chastened your blackened race

Not the first 

Can’t be the last

Change won’t take place

Racism, for some,

Runs like poison in a snake’s tongue

Devastates cities during hurricanes

Plays the fool like a well-known clown,

Winning the election while doing much wrong,

Spreads like the Spanish flu,

Wiping out millions 

Not wearing the tissue

Your color, not the counterfeit $20 bill

Is the issue

Not the first

Can’t be the last

Your sane journey to the endless breath 

Knelt on

The shocking scene

Of your death.

So, breathe there, our ‘gentle giant’

It is for free



Your wealth.

diary of covid

fear not death

the body lying like a cigarette

wrapped up

Neither the first

Nor the last 


The ‘Orange Julius,

Taken to the underground bunker,

Entrapped like a visible enemy

While the Black devoured

The Wild Rice

Even in a white House

‘Trumplethinskin’ was itching 

To exercise his dim thumb,

Smelling the approaching downfall 

Of a damned dance.

I am

I am the doctor

Who will heal your pangs, 

Cure your lingering headaches, and help you bear the whips and scorns of life…

I’m the architect

Who will design your spiritual map

With the blessed key, you can survey the effect  

In impish glee, your lips will clap

I’m the electrician

The superhero who’ll install lighting

To help you see my 5D spirit of love

With thirsty eyes, you capture me,

Downloading my minute features

onto your digital memory

I’m the weather forecaster

To safeguard you from the snowstorm

And the roaring wind,

Making it easy for you to stand up in

Like these lines, you won’t be


Or walking against the impassable


I’m the singer

To charm your life with conjunct melodies,

To use my soothing voice to lull you,

And read lyrics softly for your sanity

I’m the author,

Who’ll make you the play’s protagonist,

Neither as villainous as Claudius,

Nor as a rogue and peasant slave as Hamlet,

But as the Student in the two-scene

Medieval secular Play…

The Elixir of Life

Ink and liquid 

Fell in love

Like the ego and id

One below, the other above.

Ink and liquid

Do converse

On the bed

Releasing sweet sound

True and loud


Inside outside


Deep and hard.

Open the door

A virgin paper

On the floor

Scattered away

Invade it more

Up and down

Swaying, rolling

On the pillow.

Feeding fantasies

Reaching orgasm

Perfect match,

From first touch

Our bodies: rolling, swinging, 

Bubbling, bouncing

Full of ink,

Fill in my blanks

Circle me

Put me in the right form,

Reorder my distorted past,

Reshuffle my body fast,

Devour the curriculum

From speaking


To writing

So write …

More inks,

Revive me

My clitoris does shrink,

Swallowing your penis

Containing, tickling it

Smiling, laughing,

My two lips


Your star,

I am

Your tipsy star.

The color of our skin,

Turns pale to pink

Never call it a sin

Listen to heart beats,

Read eye-contact,

Paraphrase unconscious whispers

Speak to my liberated soul.

Jot down words,

Sift unclear sighs,

Edit me, correct

Your final draft to resurrect.

Full of inks your is,

You did write, yes you did

See all this liquid,

Soft, smooth transition

Into the vagina.

Write my tall, hard pen

My hands grasping your neck

Check if it hurts, check!

My legs around your back,

Like a monkey clinging

To the tree

Or a new mother holding

Her premature baby

You stick to me 

We both fell dizzy 

What a memorable ecstasy!

Published by Mike Zone

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

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