ISSN 1551-8086
return to home search for a contributing writer

seach for poems by title

archive of previous issues submissions information mailing list online store links to other interesting sites contact us  
  May 2004
volume 2 number 2
-table of contents-
  home   (archived)
  contributing poets
  Bridget Bagne
  Morgaine d'Abney
  Francisco Dominguez
  Linsly Donnelly
  Douglas Dvorkin
  Jasmin Jordan
  Ethan Latham
  Marie Lecrivain
  Sharmagne Leland-St. John
  Laura A. Lionello
  Adam Lowis
  Kelly Ann Malone
  Albert Lee Moran
  Christopher Mulrooney
  Nancy Shiffrin
  Sister Taxi Hopscotch
  The TruthHearse
  Michael Zeltser
  mailing list
May 2004



Theo Diamantis

    askew a.k.a. Charles Claymore: co-founder of Tortured Youth Studios (Milwaukee) and the legendary Disciples of Confusion (90-95), has been a AAA rock dj, concrete flatworker, and grizzled line cook. He's played in bands like Nancy and Osiris Pickup Truck, and with bands like F/i and Loblolly. The Osiris Pickup Truck CD may never be released. No one knows. He's also traveled Europe and the US writing music and poetry, singing and playing, often for actual audiences. American Fado, Claymore's latest musical project is currently recording songs for 'Bird Songs of the Pacific' at postboredom studios. His new book, Fall from Prescopia: An Incomplete Irrespective will be available in the fall from Sybaritic Press. A limited edition of 56 is available now at
    Claymore resides in Hollywood .





Only a mouthful of leather could satisfy me

And in between heartbeats,

Gulp the rhinestones falling out her mouth.

And christ, i’m terminally wired,

something in me always moving,

swiss quartz movement thoughts

like hail wreaking beautiful stained scenes,

of heathen ritual reexplained-

Hurt me please I say with her vocal cords

(splice-in-dice razor in my teeth,

tape in my hands,

scattered the dust I drew

from naked sun metaphorsamerican


Don’t hurt me she says with my mouth bleeding



this is twisted

Right now, if I were to

Peer in one of those

Rose colored windows,

And pull myself inside,

[headphones distorting,

close to my eardrums],

‘reelin’’ she says,

‘even Aphrodite,

aint got nothin’ on me.’*

And should this however polite or cordial

prostitute resemble any human i’ve been


I would cry myself to orgasm,

[headphones distorting,

tangled in my hair].

copyright 1996 Askew