Zon Delivers (short story)

200 words, rated R. And yes, this is about Amazon…

 

Tamberlin lazily fumbled for the remote, knuckles bumping into a wall of empty beer bottles. Her phone buzzed. She ignored it, rubbing her bare nipple. No work today, even if boss-man pleaded. She was pissed and in no temper to give charity to idiots. A religious imperative really.

The front door clicked. She dropped the remote, going head first to fish it off the floor. When she looked up, the Zon delivery guy stared back, wide eyed, package balanced in hand.

She reddened, closing her legs. “What? You’ve never seen a naked woman before?”

That startled him, prompting the package to tumble, contents making a definite shattering noise.

Tamberlin shot up, swaying. “Son of a! That was my hundred-dollar Seth statue!”

He hemmed and hawed, clearly horrified. “It’s only my first day.”

“Your last, if you don’t compensate.”

He backed up as she came forward. “How?”

“Make me happy, fucker!”

They locked eyes. He breathed like a cornered beast. “I could-”

“Get on with it!”

The door closed. He stripped. Very satisfactory, ox strong, hung like a horse.

“Back door, front door?” he asked sheepishly.

Tamberlin bent, ass cheeks framing wet pussy. “Haven’t had much luck with the front lately.”

Meno Silencio ©

 

Dear readers: Update on my upcoming book ‘three threesomes for the price of one’? I’m planning on putting it out tomorrow : D Still formatting the living daylights out of it, so that meatgrinder doesn’t spit it out as confetti… I will post here on my blog when it goes live, and if I haven’t told you guys already, I’m offering it for free the first week! So something to make your weekend even better. Feel free to get drunk and curl up with my book ; ) Just make sure to sober up before you post a review. lol For coherence’s sake.

New to my blog and want to read more 200 word tales of filth as well as some much longer works? Click here, and save yourself some searching.

Aleppo 2016

There is a long slow dying,

As the death flower blooms

From encompassing rubble

Rotting scent

Wafting from blood skull petals

A shuddering corpse

Where stamen should be.

Why give life after all

When one can only taste decay?

The flower roots in, deeply

Watered in blood and tears

Sung lullabies of shrieks

It stretches, grows

Hoping faintly that heaven will look down

Upon its stagnate turmoil,

And finally crush its never ending misery.

The Witch’s Bookshelf: Phantom Noise (Book Review)

The Witch’s Bookshelf: Phantom Noise by Brian Turner

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Standing in aisle 16, the hammer and anchor aisle,

I bust a 50 pound box of double-headed nails

open by accident, their oily bright shanks

and diamond points like firing pins

from M-4s and M-16s.

In a steady stream

they pour onto the tile floor, constant as shells

falling south of Baghdad last night, where Bosch

kneeled under the chain guns of helicopters

stationed above, their tracer-fire a synaptic geometry

of light.

At dawn, when the shelling stops,

hundreds of bandages will not be enough.

 

“At Lowe’s Home Improvement Center”(excerpt), From Phantom Noise by Brian Turner

 

Phantom noise is Brian Turner’s second book of poetry. You can read my review of his first book (titled ‘Here, Bullet‘) here.

If ‘Here, Bullet’ was a portrait  of a soldier enwrapt in war, ‘Phantom Noise’ is one of the battle to disentangle ones self from war. In another words, it is a completely different book, something I always view as a bonus (no one wants to read the same thing over, and over again). At the same time it manages to retain his unique voice.

That being said, I found it a little difficult at first to adjust to the change, maybe it was because the center of the first poem throws you abruptly into his love life, something very distant and undealt with. Or perhaps it is because his first book was so stunningly beautiful that it made this one feel a little cold. The feeling didn’t last, as this book quickly gave me reasons to admire it in its own right. In fact the cold distance communicated the atmosphere change well.

There is a great deal of new ground covered in this book really, with some poems that are intensely political (‘Sleeping in Dick Cheney’s Bed’), and others that read as almost memoir/childhood summations (‘Homemade Napalm’, ‘Lucky Money’). The majority though stand as a monument to the ghosts that soldiers bring back from war, the scars that never really heal over.

I honestly hope you’ll check out this book, buy it if you like it, it’s worth every cent, just like the first one. At this point I might as well sign up for the life time fan club right?

 

Have you read any good books of poetry written by soldiers? Feel free to give me suggestions below!

 

 

Wolves In Suicide Vests (Poem)

The beasts

Wrapped delicately in human skin

Stalk the curving expanse

 

They are not us

But they are

 

Bellyful of fire

Rancid hate

Eyes glowing sanctamoniously

 

They are hunters

We have become prey

 

When the skin peels

Sloughs away

And they are naked

 

See what is below

It is not us

 

They are gnarled blackness

Blood flowing from secret orfices

Stuffed with secret pain and rage

 

They are not us

Are they?

 

They descend, tear like wolves

Children from mothers

Life from breath, blood from brow

 

No, they are not us

Not anymore

 

Until they are waste also

Victims of their own zeal

No longer anything