Hungry Woman by Keith Ebsary

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Hungry Woman

by Keith Ebsary


<p class="”copyright”">Photo by Joel (<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/joel_nilsson/sets/">J. Nilsson Photography</a>) Copyright © 2014. Model: Angela Renner.</p>

Photo by Joel (J. Nilsson Photography) Copyright © 2014. Model: Angela Renner.



A mountain of steak, a bombardment of bovine, meaty, majestic, marbled and magnificent. And it’s all for my wife, the wafer-thin gorger in thong and bra picking at the slabs of flesh with slow and lazy fingers as she coyly telegraphs the imminent feast. Meat smells fill our bedroom­­—salt, char and blood—and the lights play over the sharp strake of her shoulders and wild lines of her ribs. She looks into my eyes, and the look is hungry, as my fingers drop one by one in a silent countdown.




Then the camera is on and the feast begins.

The first steak disappears in wolfy bites, jaws chomping in frenzy on tissue and gristle. I watch her throat bobble and gulp as her lips and tongue click in robotic harmony to the animal sounds mumbling through the juices inside her mouth.

The second steak is gentle, a quiet dinner in a riverside café, a bottle of wine with candlelight and fire. She fondles the meat with a lover’s touch, nuzzling the seared muscle with playful nips of her teeth. Meat juice precomes down her chin and she licks it away, eyes drilling through the camera to the unseen faces beyond.

The third steak is wild, ripped and shredded like the carcass of a woodland beast. She growls and barks as her fingers plunge into the wet muscle and tear off chunks that are swallowed whole. Her lips curl in predatory rage and her body hunches over the kill, a prize for her alone.

The other steaks become a smacking blur. She eats and eats and I watch in fascination as her gut bulges from the banquet packed within. The camera catches it all, every throat-swelling swallow, every satiated grunt. I try to fade from the scope of her hunger, become the shadow behind a plant. Finally the eating ends and she collapses onto the pillows behind her. I turn the camera off and join her on the bed where she lies with eyes half-open and stomach distended, glutted on cow like a sullen lioness digesting her kill. She crooks her finger, Come and I do what she says because she reminds me of everything beautiful.

Her kisses taste like meat and she is the sun inside me.
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A Passport to Elsewhere by Richard Jurgens

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A Passport to Elsewhere

by Richard Jurgens


Cover photo © 2013 by Surya Green

Cover photo © 2013 by Surya Green

Tennessee Williams in Bangkok
by Eddie Woods
Inkblot Publications, September 2013
Distributed by aftermathbooks.com
Providence, Rhode Island
ISBN-10: 0934301719
$15.00 US | $16.06 CDN | 12,11 EUR | Paperback
8×5 inches, 146pp

A couple of years ago I invited some hip young people to a literary evening at Café Brecht in Amsterdam. They were rather self-consciously cool: a lean former resident of Denver, Colorado, stone hash-pipe in hand; a secretive Irishman in a hoody; and a young Swedish woman with tattoos all over her shapely body and an eyebrow piercing.

When we got there, the American poet and writer Eddie Woods was already reading. It was him I’d brought them to hear. But a look of astonishment crossed the cool people’s faces when they tuned in. Soon they were nudging each other and giggling like schoolgirls in a porn shop. They couldn’t believe their ears. What? ‘Pussy’? Kali? Cunnilingus?
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Flatline by David Menear

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David Menear


"Eyes: M", Copyright © 2014 Devin McCawley

“Eyes: M”, Copyright © 2014 Devin McCawley

Muttering and whispering her own bad poetry she’d slink secretively along through the cold frozen night of Montreal’s Westmount the few blocks from the bar to my place. Weaving in and out between the parked cars and ducking in behind trees and utility poles like a commando evading an enemy sniper. I’d left before her. No one at the bar was supposed to know we were meeting she insisted. Natalie wanted my drugs and booze and I wanted her insane enthusiastic sex. Hot young coke-whore meets horny older guy. Our needs were honest, delineated and always satisfied. I’d smack out a few fat lines on a mirror while she slowly struggled to undress fighting with her bra, so stoned, mystified like she’d never worn one of these harnesses before. A wild pony struggling to be free.
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Recreating the President’s Brain from Zapruder’s Home Movie by Philip Quinn

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Recreating the President’s Brain

from Zapruder’s Home Movie




Philip Quinn



from Love’s field,

                       all roads lead to complete synaptic breakdown
at Main and Houston, sharp 90 degree turn for the worse

             one block north along Houston to Elm Street


the cheering crowds
traces of love, traces of American actor fallout
Hiroshima, “Ask not…”
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Mary — a film by Yarre Stooker

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a film by

Yarre Stooker



“Eddie Woods writes poetry the way he lives life, intensely. Experience informs his art, and vice versa. Passion, raw edges, nothing left out. Sex, love, politics…coupled with an unrelenting drive towards awareness, the need to understand what universal reality is all about. His poem “Mary” enters the listener’s ears like a wordbomb, exploding inside the mind, and reverberates down the spine like electroshocks from the brain’s pleasure centre.”

— Mark McCawley (from Mary by Eddie Woods, Urban Graffiti, March 8, 2012)

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