Toylit Q1/Q2 2010 Report: Six Months of Gestation... FINISHED & ON SALE NOW!

Selected News Poems from Jan 22, 2010 through July 22, 2010. 119 pages w/ 110 poems. http://www.lulu.com/content/paperback-book/toylit-q1q2-2010-report-six-months-of-gestation/9547765

Rutherford Toady did the artwork and it's pretty damned good. Don't believe me? Here's the cover:

I edited most of the poems: sometimes they needed punctuation changes, sometimes the final couplet was terrible--but of course sometimes the poems came out perfectly and needed no revision. 110 poems at $19.95 costs you about $.18 a poem; cheaper than the newspaper and more durable too (both in content and in format). This book represents a cumulative effort of approximately 600 hours and I'm pleased with the result. If you enjoy All the News in Witty Print (or All the News That's Shit; In Print), please buy a copy.

Also, let me know if you want to review it.

Thanks for reading,

-KW

ps: Sorry folks, no #twitterfoundpoems in this edition.

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The Bargain [Bonus Poem Collaboration, June 4, 2010, Art: Rutherford Toady (rtoady), Poetry: Khakjaan Wessington (KW)]

The Bargain [Bonus Poem Collaboration, June 4, 2010, Art: Rutherford Toady (rtoady), Poetry: Khakjaan Wessington (KW)]

Art: Rutherford Toady
Poetry: Khakjaan Wessington

I sleep with a basket of cans at my feet.
My monitor flickers. The teevee recites
Some facts on the tidepools not far from my street.
My pizza is finished, the darkness invites
A script from my dreams, where I live on the edge
And snap at the gleanings; the vomit the bay
Has served for my dinner. I watch. On the ledge,
Abutting the rocks—not decayed—dare I pray
For miracles? Pinching its neck with my claws?
Its fat and its alien warmth in my jaws?

More Rutherford Toady at http://carrioncall.blogspot.com

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Haunted Androids [Mixed-Media Collaboration, May 15, 2010; Art by R Toady, Poetry by K.W.]

Haunted Androids
Art by Rutherford Toady
Poetry by Khakjaan Wessington

I) Genesis of the Lament
Seized and snipped, placenta
Bagged then burned, they branded...
Mother! Doctors etched an
Order, “Live” upon my
Brow! All wet with after
Birth—the lights were blinding.
Greenish curtains bore the
Yolk from which I burst. An
Angel said before my
Birth, the drain creates an
Eye with steady gaze that
Meets the rinser's guilty
Glance. My best dregs gurgled.

II) Homunculus Adopts the Golem
Through the slivers of clouds comes a beam
For the evening: the moon is my rune
In the night. So I follow the seams:
Through the yards, and the fences on dune.
May the cobwebs protect me! I crept.
I was drawn to the chorus I heard.
It was beautiful croaking—I wept
In the mists and the doorway. A bird
Made of leather was perched on a stand.
She's the sister of golems—the hen
For my skull—and she hatched me a wren
From my scalp. I extended my hand.

Rutherford Toady is also a great writer. Go to http://carrioncall.blogspot.com for more art and poetry.

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Choke on the Bit [Guest News Poem, May 13, 2010, By Rutherford Toady]

Choke on the Bit
By Rutherford Toady

Welcome to the triple-X ranch, where we work hard to break the faux-virginal sissypants pop smears, who in reality are far from pure and in fact have been repeatedly molested by impotent politicians wearing giant strap-ons molded in the shape of their favorite popes. After being buggered by a Pius XXX phallus for years, young stallions such as Justin Bieber can’t help but hurl up wall after wall of protective stony smiles, the ivory fences of their pearly whites being the only part of them not yet scrimshawed with the graffiti tags of corporate logos. The fillies fare even worse; take Miley Cyrus, her tween twat long since marked with the mark of the bestialist, her bust wet from the slobberings of every linebacker faggot who could unclog the blow from his nostrils long enough to get his pecker hard enough to pork her prepubescent pussy. Eventually the scorch-marks from the branding irons scab over and these girls stop shitting bits of cellphone into the bloody basin every morning, stop vomiting up the gobs of spermy vodka that get caught in the backs of their throats like an extra uvula. Yes, eventually our little Britneys and Lilos grow up and become the glassy-eyes nags they were always destined to be, singing with sandpaper rasps and shaving their snatches like they were still thirteen. We put them out to pasture then, but only after riding them into the dirt, those skeletal cumbags whose bloated udders will soon scrape the ground like swollen condoms. We scratch our names in their hides with our spurs, laugh when they get their hooves caught in their own stirrups. We ride them fast and ride hard, and keep plying them with visions of apples and sugarcubes, and when they complain that we don’t deliver the goods, we remind them that this poor falling-apart old world could always use a little more glue. Now, giddy the fuck up!

--

Visit R. Toady's site: http://carrioncall.blogspot.com

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Rutherford Toady is a talented fucker: new sketches on The Carrion Call

http://carrioncall.blogspot.com

But don't be too jealous. That much talent drives a man insane.



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Flak Jacket [Top Post of Yesterday's Guest News Poem by R. Toady, April 8, 2010]

Flak Jacket
By Rutherford Toady
http://carrioncall.blogspot.com

He walks swiftly, balancing
An unopened Can of Pepsi
On his clipboard until it topples off,
Thunks to the sidewalk.

He bends over, picks it up
And wordlessly sets it back on the board,

Clamping the dented can beneath his palm
As he darts across the street
And slips between the sliding glass doors.

Surely he must know
That the carbonation inside the can
Has become agitated, that
The can is now a bomb,
An aluminum grenade
Of volatile pop waiting
To have its pin cracked.
Surely he will take the time
To tap the top of the can
And hold it over the sink,
Pointing the spray safely away
When he flips the tab.
Surely he won't forget that.

Surely he won't take his drink
Directly into the meeting
Before opening it.
Surely today isn't the day
He decided to wear
His best, his only
Suit.

http://carrioncall.blogspot.com



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Flak Jacket [Guest News Poem, by Rutherford Toady; April 7, 2010]

Flak Jacket
By Rutherford Toady
http://carrioncall.blogspot.com

He walks swiftly, balancing
An unopened Can of Pepsi
On his clipboard until it topples off,
Thunks to the sidewalk.

He bends over, picks it up
And wordlessly sets it back on the board,

Clamping the dented can beneath his palm
As he darts across the street
And slips between the sliding glass doors.

Surely he must know
That the carbonation inside the can
Has become agitated, that
The can is now a bomb,
An aluminum grenade
Of volatile pop waiting
To have its pin cracked.
Surely he will take the time
To tap the top of the can
And hold it over the sink,
Pointing the spray safely away
When he flips the tab.
Surely he won't forget that.

Surely he won't take his drink
Directly into the meeting
Before opening it.
Surely today isn't the day
He decided to wear
His best, his only
Suit.

http://carrioncall.blogspot.com



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