Michael D. Goscinski

by Horror Sleaze Trash on April 24, 2013

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BIO: Michael D. Goscinski and his beard are hiding out in the sticks of New York State with a real live poet.  He has a “dueling banjos” ringtone on his phone and thanks the Lord every morning that he is not one of the livestock.  He currently co-hosts Nothing to Lose, Zygote in my Radio and his column Fish Tacos & Meat Sacks can be found at Zygote in my Coffee.  All general complaints and hate mail should be sent to mgoscinski@gmail.com.

one of those shits

 

it’d been a while

since i had to shit like that

it was one of those cheek squeezers

where you try to hold it together

running for the bathroom

hoping you don’t let lose

 

fortunately i made it

even had time to grab

my copy of

the complete works of william shakespeare

though i will confess

i wasn’t really in the mood for theatre

 

it didn’t take much of a push

but christ

the shit just wouldn’t stop

i thought for sure

i’d find my guts floating

when i got up from the pot

 

and to make matters worse

it was one of those shits

you just can’t wipe off

even if you stand up; get into it

the more you wipe

the more shit on the paper

 

it was one of those shits

that stayed with me

all day

everywhere i went

i could feel it

rustling around back there

 

such is life

no matter how much

you try to wipe away the shit

or hide it

with love

religion

politics

it remains

a deep dark secret

clinging

to your most private parts

 

—-

sonata in dead flat

 

 

right now

beethoven

is rattling

in my ears

bills

friends

enemies

the woman

the kid

unemployment

poverty

anxiety

no longer

exist

for this moment

belongs

to the dead

 

 

facebook reunion

 

 

more and more

we find each other

ex-girlfriends

schoolmates

and relatives

it’s always the same

college degrees

wedding rings

children

new cars

and careers

“what about you?” they ask

i tell them

i didn’t go to college

am divorced

have no children

and no job

i write poetry

that doesn’t pay

and doesn’t get read

i drink too much

eat too little

and could give a fuck

about the world around me

their response

is always the same

“well nice chatting

glad we could catch up

we gotta do this again sometime”

we never do

 

 

the misunderstood poet

 

 

another cold lonely night

of generic cigarettes

malt liquor tall cans

and losing scratch off tickets

with nothing to look forward too

but internet porn

masturbation

and the hope

i can find the right words

to spill on to the page

knowing all too well

no matter how much i starve

how many tears i cry

or how hard i work

to get the words out

that tomorrow

some sexist asshole

some man hating feminist

some whiney liberal

and some uptight conservative

will take my words

manipulate them

and tell the world

what an asshole i am

because they’d rather

point the figure at me

than look in the mirror

at themselves

 

 

what could’ve been

 

 

another night

in a smoky bar

filled with twenty somethings

and men in their late forties

i had been talking to her

for over an hour

she was beautiful

black hair

fair skin

voluptuous

we reeked of scotch and sex

last call

 

“do you want one more” i asked

 

“of course” she said

“but it’s such a shame it has to end

just think of what could’ve been”

 

we finished our last round

made our way to the parking lot

and talked for another twenty five minutes

she smiled as she opened the door to her car

“it’s such a shame it has to end

just think of what could’ve been”

 

“alright” i said

“you can come back to my place

for a few if you want”

 

“lead the way” she said

 

at my apartment

we had a few more drinks

and played with my cat

until i made my move

i kissed her neck

as i pulled off her shirt and bra

exposing her two perfectly round breasts

she slid off her shoes

and peeled off her socks

 

“what the hell is that” i said

 

“what’s what”

 

“your toenail

it’s black

that’s disgusting”

 

she turned red

“you’re an ass

talk about ruining the mood

i stubbed my toe

i was wearing open toed shoes

and stubbed my toe that’s all”

 

“just caught me off guard” i said

 

she stood up

put her shirt on

grabbed her bra and shoes

“i don’t need this shit

i’m outta here”

she slammed the door behind her

 

i grabbed another beer

sat on the couch

looked over my cat and said

“yup, it’s such a shame it had to end

just think of what could’ve been”

 

 

yoga

 

 

for years

i laughed at the yoga people

the weird contortions

rapid breathing

clothing

foam bricks

monotone instruction videos

and mats

all to feel better and relieve stress

but that all changed one day

in the walk in closet

 

i swear this was the longest

period any woman

had ever had

one for the record books

the lack of sex

driving me insane

i couldn’t take it anymore

i attacked her in the closet

fortunately

she grabbed a rolled up yoga mat

for us to fuck on

 

what we did in there

could best be described

as team yoga for nudists

with positions such as

the doggy, the plough, and cum cobra

when we finished

i noticed the puddles of fresh blood

on the now speckled yoga mat

and realized it had worked

i was now relaxed, free of stress,

and anxiously awaiting my next

yoga session

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