dumpster fire by Bogdan Dragos

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Gobblers & Masticadores

four nights ago one of the plastic dumpsters caught fire and kept burning until morning it offered light and warmth and the best part... as it grew ever smaller with melting, it resembled a statuette of a female figure licking lustfully at it's own hands joined in prayer It would've been a sin not to take her home He had no home other than the abandoned building he lived in though, so he took her there and joined her in prayer and made love to it many times, his lips black from caressing the burnt plastic this morning too he defecates on it and spreads the stuff all over her face to keep her alive There is infinite happiness in his success She starts talking to him, uttering kind words he'd never heard from humans in his life “My love,” she says, “your genuine appreciation of my beauty pleases me…

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Poetry and Prose of Ken Hume

5. Where did you get the idea for your Daydreaming as a Profession blog site? Was it something you’ve always wanted to do? And how long has it been in existence?
Daydreaming is and was always my favorite activity. And the one I’m really good at (because it happens effortlessly). I’ve been doing it all my life, but never thought I could create something tangible from it.
Now pretty much every poem is the result of daydreaming.
Growing up, I’ve often been told that I daydream too much. The Romanian expressions for daydreaming sound something along the lines of, “to dream with one’s eyes open,” and my personal favorite, “to dream of green horses on the walls”.
Goodness, I can’t recall how many times I’ve heard that in my life. If someone could show me snapshots of my life, 85% of them would probably be of me holding a fixed…

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sometimes you don’t have to lead the insane to happiness, but to follow

Gobblers & Masticadores

By Bogdan Dragos

he would start whistling Very random and very loud even at night in bed and stopping him was very much a gamble The caterpillar-like stitches on his wife’s arm were a testimony to that He’s never been the same since his head injury Poor fellow just had the terrible, terrible luck to walk underneath an overpass while some teenagers were throwing big rocks for fun Now he kept calling the emergency number and crying that his wife had gone missing when she’d be just in the other room or at work The neighbors filed noise complaints because of his nightly whistling and apparently he no longer knew how to use the toilet paper. He always smelled and it was worse when he climbed in bed besides his wife It was hell and hell broke people and tonight again he started whistling and woke her up and as…

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lab rat by Bodgan Dragos

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Gobblers & Masticadores

so, you're writing poetry or, well, at least you pretend to and you pretend you're good at it and the people want more from you nice but how come none of what you write is uplifting stuff? if anything, you've got more depressing shit than uplifting stuff and you expect to get popular with that? get real! you've got to inspire people you've got to write motivational stuff, uplifting, hope giving stuff, upbeat verses brimming with intelligence and radiating brilliance your words are like confetti on a page why are they so scattered? what poem is this? why does it start with a lowercase letter? are you dumb? Don't you know how to write? you're unbelievable, man, unbelievable and don't even mention the nonexistence of rhymes, pfff, lame... this is not a goddamn poem, fool it's child's mockery and you should grow up and stop pretending you're doing this for…

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alive today by Bodgan Dragos

Gobblers & Masticadores

there was a new guy in the park
among the homeless

He arrived just after the mayor had
eradicated all
the tents and improvised huts

and it was easy to spot him
He was the one who
always had a book in his hand, always

"Check out the new guy," they
said. "An intellectual. Heh, hey buddy,
what you reading that for? Not like
you gonna get a degree that'll take
your ass outta here anytime soon. Haaahahah!"

He was reading his own poems
from a time when
he was young and his dreams were
still alive

Today nothing was alive
but misery itself

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good and bad poetry by Bogdan Dragos

Gobblers & Masticadores

after you write enough
and try to publish for long enough
you just notice it
There is no such thing as
There's just poetry to which people
can relate
and poetry to which
people can't relate.
And that makes all the difference
in the world.

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see through the keyhole By Bogdan Dragos

Gobblers & Masticadores

you can only see through the keyhole
but you’re never meant to
go through the door

She wrote the words
on a napkin
as she watched
from her lone table
the couple holding hands
and kissing
a few tables away

Then she turned the napkin
on the other side
and wrote

Maybe I should just stop searching
and start writing poetry

followed by
a smiley face
that she copied with her own

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