We fucked loudly
We fucked loudly all night while nuclear power plants mushroomedWe swallowed sperm so greedily that it started to rain and the air bombs got wet
We kissed so passionately that flowers began to grow outside the cemetery
We jerked off for so long that during this time the neighbor’s children grew up
Basements are dark, so it’s easier to have sex there
But it’s too early for children to have sex, so they just sit silently in bomb shelters
The gun’s erection bursts out of screaming throats
Severed heads continue to give blowjobs
Trigger of cardiac atavism
Something exploded in a bright jet and splashed the walls of the bomb shelter:
Gun or strap-on?
Blood or sperm?
cover man
cover manstubble on the face
press on the stomach
in strong hands he holds a sword
there is a dragon tattooed on his hand that is about to devour me
in my childhood, models from glossy magazines looked a little stereotypical, but even then they seemed sexy to me in a sense
the dragon swallowed me
no sword will cut my pupils now
all the people around me look stereotypically like the same man from the cover of a magazine
did everyone really look at gloss in childhood?
Is it really true that everyone in adulthood loves stubble and six-pack abs?
I’m walking along an empty subway car
the wind of the underground blows traces of the past
the heat of the dungeon melts the flesh of the future
I’m nowhere and I don’t have stubble or abs
I’m nobody by the standards of glossy magazines
no one needs my body, not even myself
my body doesn’t even want to fuck because in reality fucking is not as glossy as in porn films
It’s surprising that glossy magazines are still quite popular
a cute boy with a beautiful butt is going down the escalator
his eyes are lowered to the phone screen
the heat and wind of time are blowing up our sandy footprints that never existed
monkey plum stones
monkey plum stones in the cemeterywe are walking along this animal alley
all the animals greet us as murderers
some rhinoceros takes a gun out of his pocket and shoots you in the head
and I am crazy and I myself not understanding what to do next
tear off my head and throw it on the top of a tree
suddenly I realize that it was not you next to me
suddenly I realize that I do not even have myself and not even a head
the windows are open and there is nothing outside
I can not swim
I want you to tear my ass with your dick but you are no longer thereYour body is locked with the key of the night
My dick is forever locked in a chastity belt
Nobody knows what it means to die from love for a dead person
Everyone knows what death is, love and the dead
However time attaches no importance to anything and drowns everything in its water
I would like to drown in sperm and not in the water of lonely days
I wish atomic bombs wouldn’t grow instead of mushrooms
I want to drink your cum in the secret compartment of a nuclear power plant
Your grave is flooded after a hydroelectric explosion
Your body is shot through by a senseless war
(Another war that looks like dust dye)
You always loved flowers and didn’t like khaki
Plastic flowers are now with you forever
I’m now forever alone with time
I dream of being killed by a bomb and after that no one ever dies anywhere
I’m drowning in the water of a blown up hydroelectric station and I’m drowning in the lonely
time that you gave me
Death is your first gift to me
(You were deliberately cold towards me because you knew about my love feelings)
This is your last gift
Death lights up on the horizon like a box with an unknown surprise
Instead of a strap-on there are still rifles
Instead of me people who thirst for life still die
But I’m not comfortable and I feel stolen at birth
Who and why brought me to the world of water and sand
Sand castles still await the tide
I’m always late (for dates and cemeteries)
I can not swim
Mykyta Ryzhykh has been nominated for the Pushcart Prize, and has been published many times in the journals Dzvin, Dnipro, Bukovinian magazine, Polutona, Tipton Poetry Journal, Stone Poetry Journal, Divot journal, dyst journal, Superpresent Magazine, Allegro Poetry Magazine, Alternate Route, Better Than Starbucks, Littoral Press, Book of Matches, TheNewVerse News, Acorn haiku Journal, The Wise Owl, Verse-Virtual, Scud, Fevers of the Mind, LiteraryYard, PLUM TREE TAVERN, ITERANT, Fleas on the Dog, The Tiger Moth Review, Lothlorien Poetry Journal, Angel Rust, Neologism Poetry Journal, Shot Glass Journal, QLRS, The Crank, Chronogram, The Antonym, Monterey Poetry Review, Five Fleas Itchy Poetry, Ranger magazine, PPP Ezine, Bending Genres Journal, Rat’s Ass Review, Cajun Mutt Press, minor literatures, Audience Askew Literary Journal, Spirit Fire Review, The Gravity of the Thing, Ballast Journal, Star 82 Review, The BeZine, A Thin Slice of Anxiety, Synchronized Chaos, boats against the current, The Decadent Review, Corvus Review, American Diversity Report, Unlikely Stories, Triggerfish Critical Review, The Moth, Ripple Lit, Rock & Sling, Meniscus, Rabid Oak, ZiN Daily, Stone of Madness, The Cortland Standard, Quarter Press, Schredder, Wilderness House Literary Review, Poetry Porch, Chewers & Masticadores, The Big Windows Review, Journal of Compressed Creative Arts, Third Wednesday, Cosmic Double, Dialogist, Consequence, Cool Beans Lit, Poets Choice, BarBar, and Ice Floe Press.
Art: Mage #1 & 3. Visual collages by Robert Frede Kenter (c) 2026.
