Nocturne
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Nocturne

 Michael Frissore
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 Michael Frissore
Nocturne
by Michael Frissore  FollowFollow
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Beatnik, matador, and complete douche, Michael Frissore lives in a small, fictional town in New England with his wife, two mischievous felines,...read more and a little floating alien only he can see. By night he writes; by day he sits in a cubicle listening to Opie and Anthony all day. His writing can be found on saloon cocktail napkins and the walls of bathroom stalls all over North America. Mike enjoys Chinese food, time travel, and referring to himself in the third person. He has a MySpace page (www.myspace.com/basilandtandy), but, don't worry, your children are safe with him.
Issue 15 · poetry
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Nocturne
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Drooling blood and sausage juice
I fiddle and shake like
A drunk puppy smeared with cooking spray
The delirious symphony manipulates her
As I worship my enormous purple sweat apparatus.
Screaming like wax produce,
She is dressed in a repulsive meat gown,
Luscious and gorgeous as death,
Lathering her chocolate eggs.
The sweet smell of fluff sings to me bitterly.
I want her ugly, boiling tongue
As a gift to mother.

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