| ZYGOTE IN MY COFFEE.COM |
| ***BIO*** Paul Christian Stevens was born in Yorkshire, England but lives in Australia, where he teaches literature. He has published poems and prose in print and pixel, most recently or imminently in Mannequin Envy, CounterPunch, The Barefoot Muse, Shakespeare's Monkey Revue, The Literary Bohemian, The HyperTexts, London Poetry Review, New Verse News, Umbrella, Lucid Rhythms, The New Formalist, Ourobouros, Innisfree, Snakeskin and The Raintown Review. He founded and edits The Chimaera literary miscellany and The Shit Creek Review. You can find links to his more recent publications in the 'Blurbs' section of his MySpace site here: http://www.myspace.com/redgryphon |
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| © 2009 zygoteinmycoffee Ink. |
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| The Muse of Fuck |
| by Paul Christian Stevens |
| Setting to write the poem after
the house had gone to sleep, only the clack and displaced gale of trains buffetting the air; sometimes a truck laboring up the hill, drowsy and numb I called on the Muse-- and the Muse answered me as the Muse of Fuck, screaming raucous from another house just down the street Fuck you! Fuck you! No Fuck You! No Fuck you! The jagged shriek: Put the fucking glass down! Oh sir! Oh sir! She tried to glass me! Fuck! Oh sir! Shut up! Shut up! Shut the fuck up! Shut the fuckfuck up! Brief heavy silence. A train rush. I'l'l fucken knock you down and fucken fuck you You fucken cunt I'll fuck you where you lie I'll knock your fucken teeth out then I'll fuck you! I'll burn your fucken house I'll fucken burn you! I'll fucken burn you then I'll fucken fuck you! Oh sir She tried to glass me sir! Fuck stick it up your fucken clacker Shut the fuck fuck upup No you fucken shut the fuck up Fuck and fuck on fuck I'll fuck you fuck and fuck on fuck into the fucken night away the voices' music fading from street to street and buried deep, and me, the nightingale and my sole self awake, asleep. |
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| May 2009 |
| 117 |