Hips and bones and how I like your come

My poem "Penis Secrets of the Anunnaki" is now online at Nightmare Magazine.

Most of the relevant background is contained in the author's note, but I have always loved that we know the names of the mother, wife, and daughter of Namtar, the demon of disease who serves as minister of the Mesopotamian underworld. The other influence on the poem was a COVID scare in the family.

Flicker like a Super 8

All errands were successfully accomplished this afternoon and except for the part where spatch and I ate slices of pizza in a park, Harry, it sucked. Have some links.

1. It might have been useful for me to know a couple of years ago, but it looks as though many of the whalemen's journals kept by the New Bedford Whaling Museum have been digitized and can be read online. On that subject, see the forgotten whaling captains of color.

2. Poems that have gotten my attention lately include Hugo Williams' "Flâneur" and Campbell McGrath's "Glory-of-the-Atlantic."

3. I was slightly unclear on the parameters of the quiz to determine which WWI homosexual you are and assumed it meant historical figures. It seems to operate more archetypally and assigned me Captain Cooke:

You have been here since 1914 and you're not quite sure what year it is. You could not give less of a damn if you got a court martial for wearing your uniform wrong. Your boyfriend listens patiently as you complain how B Company always leaves the trenches a bloody mess for your arrival. You throw a flask at the staff officer who enters your dugout, but you're one of his best men so he wants to promote you to Major. However, you would sooner eat your own boots, hobnails and all. Before everything you do, you let out a long sigh. You know you're bitter sometimes, but you have a soft heart underneath it all. Your weakness is boys who know you have a soft spot . . .

I gather I am in a production of Journey's End. Possibly I should not actually go around singing "We're Here Because We're Here."