A Love Letter To An Autumn Thunderstorm

jimmi campkin


It doesn’t help to overly romanticise The Girl; a Manic Pixie Nightmare smelling faintly of green meat with greasy hair and black under her fingernails.  Every morning she drew teardrops under those auburn oval windows in eyeliner, in memory of those who didn’t and couldn’t pass the tests.  Every morning she pressed those dirty angelic feet into the same toeless, ripped heels.  Those feet, the soles hardened and yellow, once kicked the life and death out of her own father, and left a streak of explosive blood across the wall; she compared it to a peacock feather.  She was not romantic, but she appreciated actions…. not gestures but actions.  When I took a beating from a gang of ten with pool cues for commenting on her tits she looked down on me like undersole filth and played on with them, as the barkeep swept me into a bucket and threw…

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Stone Birth

Mick's Neon Fog

I didn’t make it to school today because our car wouldn’t start. It might be the lack of gas, might be the oil congealing, might be the gears stripped of teeth in the transmission. So we stayed in bed and made pancakes for breakfast. It’s not the first class I’ve missed, and it won’t be the last; not that I’m keeping track but I don’t I’ll flunk out on account of absences, however many. We’ve stopped counting. How many weeks left until rent, how many days till our next paycheck; how many meals left in the fridge, what date did the milk expire? How many months since your last period? We know your job will fire you, at 22, leaving work when your back starts to hurt just to stand. So we’ll bide our time. We’ll bide our time on the white-washed walls of our 1-bedroom on the edge of…

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What the F*ck?


Two naked bodies mush together sticky from drooling over the freedom of it all. There’s so much of him I want. His dirty mouth his absent eyes bruises left behind as a reminder of what we’ve walked away from. But when he leans over and whispers those three words our acts of freedom turn into an establishment. So I wriggle out and dump his tobacco all over the floor. I told you to fucking quit. He sits up erect and stroking and still coming back from our sexual high. I throw my five dollar dress on and gather my little green friends into a bag because they are mine and I don’t feel like sharing. You promised it wouldn’t get like this. I swipe his deodorant under each pit before I slip on my flip flops. He’s sweeping up his tobacco by hand. And I stare on shaking my head…

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Storm at Sea

Dances with Tricksters

And I’m sitting on the sofa, when suddenly my left side
aches and ices, and Asmodeus appears in a poppy blooming
robe and fuzzy red slippers, neckline lowered to reveal
skin like Montezuma gold, smoking a long pipe of opium.
It is only the afternoon, far from the time demons play,
yet he drapes his arm around me with talons painted black,
bares his clawed toes and crosses his leg as he blows acid
smoke in my face, my nose burns with the finest of drugs
and manic dreaming as he eases into my curves, humming
a Black Sabbath rhyme to himself, Mr. Crowley on his white
horse, and later that night, he curls up in a nest with me
outside as I sit gazing at fireflies, and the dragonflies
shudder at his cold, and I feel as if frost is settling
over the summer, past midnight he massages my…

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Partial Solution

Max or Not

a message to men
and their member’s compensing
pray ne’er be remiss
in thy diligence due

concerning the wrath
of its wanton dispensing
with nary acquist
of one semblance of truth

it seems that the war
in which all men partake of
is focused quite solely
on slaking oneself

to sate the feared fate
of inadequate function
in matters where coital
efficacy dwells

perhaps it’s an aspect
derived from devices
accustomed to thrusting
phantom paramours

decidedly lacking
the human connection
which would elicit
empathetic succor

in fact, so profuse
are the factors comprising
this vilest of vices
not wont to evolve

’tis such that it would take
a Proustian effort
to pen the impending
effusive nuance

the warranted emphasis
belies expression
one might say ineffable
such as it were

how much more apparent
can one thus profess this
than that which so painfully
i now confer

the scope of this…

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