Cut it Out

by Nicholas Morgan

Mousy made it home, with a slice of the rotten cheese. He had to gnaw off his
leg, after the human trap slapped his walking stick down with a thump of
authority. Ma and Pa were all passed out in the dung heap. Suzie Slip jaw ate
golden grahams with no milk. She gave birthday blowjobs, and never had toilet
paper. Just polluted tap water. Brother Bob had beef jerky basements and to
many stories about nothing. The sun shined down on the pretty little town,
the pet midgets were panting like wolves on the prowl.
Orange ashtrays and empty chore boys filled the needle dirtied laundry. 
Nelly took a wrong turn, and almost broke a nail. Orgasms fell from the
clouded bohemian turd. Mousy was all out of ice; the jujube's turned in to
his fat free treat. That rabbit has been eating my crops, and the humming
birds seem to be flying near the secret fields I built.  The Asian jungle
spurts out the see saw completed jig saw. I decided to take a vacation, with
out any tickets to fly.
Lung juice mornings, the smell of 3 sinks, no garbage disposal, the pipes are
clogged, and my time card is lost. Minimum wage paychecks, the faces at your
door.  She is so pleasing when she cries. Like a rainy day of Sun, with
nothing to do, but dance naked in my own little igloo of shit. Suddenly, a
rainbow over the hillbilly sand dune, Mother Nature laughing, a man slowly
dies in her intestines. I suppose sleep is the appetizer. Mousy snuggled up
in the cobwebs, lint filled belly, he dreamt of dreams, never bothering to
feel the love she opened, after the lies.
Early day snack treats chisel through the dreary Eyes. Inside the bird
chirping yesteryears of every monumental Lip smack the mouth shut. Shuddering
below are the land fish with Purina like teeth. Hungry for the sow soup.
Which is boiling like a cloud full of thunder.
    A head ache to die for.
She ate my lust-dried pain. Sit up straight. Eat your vitamins and pea pods.
Hamburglars got a knife at the window of chimes. It's a glowing frog in a
Cinderella dress. With an up turned oinker nose. Counting out magical beans.
A Mafia masters basement. They drink scotch and eat pasta. Between the legs
of eternity snaps another hungry shark. "Its all garbage" he blurts out his
programmed whale hole.
Mona ate raspberries out near the nuclear waste plant after killing her only
goose. Dipsy dived down through the funnel fed cornfields. She had Noodle
nards snorkel stuck up her corkscrew. The church bells ring. Alley cats
ripping open some locked box, my manager told me to find, at a place named
tim buck two, which didn't exist. With scents of food on it. That hog doesn't
share his slop with out a fine reason to run.
"Bingo!" Aunt Margie yells through the halls of another world. The man in the
wall whispers, "Not yet." I'll take a salami sandwich with everything but
mustard. Please don't touch the monkeys, they might bite. You can only pet
the elephants.
The shrink lifts her leg up, flashes some sort of used beaver face at the man
with no insurance. I'll take two packs of the cheap ones. Walking alone in
the woods. The leaves are dry. Fall approaches, the juicy appled fat face
reminisces about his hidden fridge. "Yuck, did you see what that fella just
did?" Herbie has been a stuffed animal all his life. Alarm shooting drip-dry
macro micro marbles.
Stroke of embolism with a dash of nutmeg on the whip creamed cherry shaved
smirking egg hunt. Though shall not be the carnival roller rider, in the new
sneakers. His feet were green, her tongue was yellow, and their blood was the
blues. Those speed bumps only slow you down for a while. Look, he jumps like
a little girl on those deep fried won ton chowder cakes. Those things were
huge. Quit scratching; take that shower to the cleaners. I didn't ask for
shindig yodels to have hoe down jamborees with broken banjos on my twittering
I still remember when the doctor pulled the long tube from out of
my two heads, which connected to a bubble, which, filled with blood.
He scoffed at me wanting more morphine; as if a long tube being pulled from
ones head is a normal day occurrence.
    Jasper threw another quarter in the slot machine. Dusted off his coat,
and walked back to his jellybean in the sky. This wasn't going to go around
that part of town. Tipsy torn toyed with hair do's and don'ts. After melting
his carburetor to the back seat of a love machine gone wrong. Sally showed up
in her checkered floods, and started yelling about her marshmallows again.
She helped that kid get back on his feet. Now he walks on his hands.   
    Caffeine finger paints and edible pictures. Jitter bugs and bed bugs,
that cat has fleas beneath the skin. Keep the change pal. Bubble gum parties
with root beer whiskey floats. Macaroni and cheese hiccuped the good grief
mouth wash. Asked the waitress for a medium rare phone number. "Sir? Must you
slobber so much?"
Resting again, till the planes take off from gate 3. He was caught red handed
with his snake in the palm of pleasure after paying 100 dollars a day to be
in jail. The clown didn't have a trick left. They charge way too much for
that stuffy tornado tickling nut job. You should listen to the sounds. "
Annoying to the point of an arrow," she mumbled a lot with eyes of
    You have to cook that longer then a loner in the microwave. Of course I
don't, and I don't appreciate the judge telling me about super simple
At last, the bacon is sizzling over the ice patch. You have to water that
stuff more. Golly, barely a morsel left for them. Happily having hives, from
bee stinger bun racks. "Honey? Can you stop at the pharmacy on your way
home?" Belchingly brave footsteps. That yelling hurts my ears.
    Composite remembrance's through a maze of past voices attached to molded
flinches. My head like lump atop my melon melting brain. The guitar starts
off slow with a twangy induced electric beat fed distortion, which radiates
in my loaded ears; it swims itself deep down past my soul to the tips of my
toes. Leave a message, we'll call you back, the employer speaks. Big Bad
Billy Brown barfed biscuits behind Beavers backyard barbecue.
The bass slowly thumps its thick strings into the picture painting
mind-tripping drummer pounding sweat like flying drips of purified aggression
and love. I can't work on Easter fed worried homework assignments in over
indulgence washed liquor feast beer tent. This program has performed an
illegal operation and will be shut down, the big red X'd
out sign reads in the distance centered in the cordless fever enhanced
never-ending expedition. Clustered clowns cleverly cloud conclusions.
    My lungs are screaming out for air, hypoxia-eating perfusion sizzles with
slowing down shine symbols of acoustic moments, being alone again.
Countless nights with in her warm flesh fade to a winged animal in a locked
safe, the combination changed. Her existence doesn't belong to me anymore.
Her post cards meaningless, I saw the train coming over the horizon before
the horizon had risen to the prolonged reality of one's own lovely foreseen
The house had a nice backyard, the house caught on fire and the realtors
bailed out on promises of fortune. Have you always hunted with your hands? If
you touch it, can you kill it? The tapes rewind around the telling tale of
what it's like to die with nobody who can blow the balloon up enough before
coughing. The curtain closes, the claps, like forgotten trauma eaten wounds,
flapping like retarded seizures to old tunes soiled and sold urinating a new
meaning out my orifices. He claims "he lives like this cause he likes it,
seen to much to pretend.
Crawling all over me.

By Nicholas Morgan
                            Copyright 2000


it was so many years a go.but I'll never forget
the outrageous breasts she had.grand and robust, like a sun filled
ocean day.popping out of her beam, her blouse.i had wanted a touch
for years, milleniums, it seemed.many a wet dream.we drank wine.
One night as friends.she always said.forget about it.i wanted those eyes
those tits
i wanted a chunk.of her joyful soul.forget the words.forget the conversations
please let me caress
"I'm a little to drunk to drive u home".scammer capabilities.i have since
lost.u can sleep in the .spare room.unless, u would like to snuggle.cuddle,…
pervert about death, life.and all .bullshit in between."I'll sleep
in your bed", she said
bingo chips! jackpot boinkers, yeee hawww!!.play it cool, the nice guy.the
guy that understood.the guy with glowing balls on
skin.we smoke the empty liquor.bottle.
.my horny moans.hormones.thinking of swift maneuvers.just
the flesh.lips locked, words gone./reaches down for the.dealers.weakest
spot.moans from Mary, thank God.thank whatever,.thank Buddha.thank Ala, thank
them all
.Mary pulls away.saying you can't get me horny.wana bet, I respond.give it.a
more moans
were just friends?
she rejects my need.and the night turns to morning.i sleep with my sleeps with means no
so called friends

I believe Neil Young sang,
"old man take a look
at your life, self?
i'm a lot like u
Were?".so that brings.the story of.tonight.
.Sitting at the bar.empty, almost.Me and one other dude.and the
bartendress.snob.all smiles
Would u like another one? (future doctor husband)no, for real, I use to
work here.the dudes babbling something bout California.Mhmmm, I.take.notice.I
use to live in California.Bout 10 years back.I proclaim.O ya? Where?

Northern and Southern, names dropped
Ya, cool, bla, bla, bla…

He speaks the language.With words like.Jell.Killer.Bummer.I dig it.The kind.

He's older then me
He's going bald
Blonde white haired blue
Eyed surfer cali
Wisdom mentality
thing about him
or maybe I'm just stupid.On business in nowhere.Shit kickin .Midland,
Michigan.He is

we exchange stories.And golly g dammit.this fellow.Has some dam good
ones.that's what I love about bars.we talk about surfing.We talk about Mark
Fu.Legendary Hawaii.Big wave Surfer.Who died.At
Mavericks( Northern , Cali) on a 30 foot wave.Those corals can fuck.U up.the
only other guy in the bar.Tells me, sipping.On a kill-ians, as I
laugh,,.agreeing.Wondering if this fella.Still likes to burn the ganj?
We babble a bit.More about San Jose, Dublin,.Berkely, Livermore,.Sacramento,
Venice beach.Malibu, old times, Ventura
Drugs…Santa Cruz,,/our drinkin, beaches, dead friends.minds our
driving all over the California Map .inside slurping straws
.empty pints.more drugs stories.laughter.and loving every fucking minute .of
it== as the flat lands.of michigan throw down more depressing snow.dam
barmaid, wants to go I always tip more//then should be aloud
generoisty those astrology leos proclaim
That bartendress asks for last call.At 12:30 a.m..Bitch and a half, o
well.Were both outa smokes anyway
We smoke down, I drive , home.And neil young.Tells me of his .Story thing
Oatmeal Smelling Bo
my Dog Bo
was old, flaky skin, real smelly.a golden retriever.who would
occasionally.take dumps.the size of elephant dung.on the kitchen floor.if I
slept in to's 8 A.M.i haven't slept in shows in my eyes.
i'm.taking Bo /for an oatmeal bath.the doggy bath house. said he
needed.30.dollars.Bo don't like cars.he decides to vomit.on the ride
smell almost .makes me upchuck as well . i tell the lady I need sleep and
will pick him 2 P.M..i mention he's a virgin./she his huge
balls.i speed home.and sleep for what/ seems 5's 2:45 p.m.
Those nightmares..
So, today…
i was sleeping the day off.preparing my body for
.a long shift, night job.thing.i had a mother was in.this
bathtub of blood.And I couldn't turn the blood off.That was,spurting out of.A
broken faucet,She was trying to drown.herself.Sticking her head under this
blood.with gurgle.bubbles floating the surface.then my father
started.yelling for help.As I was laying in bed with my .X junkie.friend
couple.They were all high on heroin.and I asked.for.their advice.they had no
advice.My mother said I was.a.disappointment.I pulled my mother from this
bathtub, she had no legs.No arms.She was this
bleeding.nightmare/stub of a human being.this upset me.immensely, .She had no
pulse.No breathing
i remebermered my emt skills.and quickly revived her through.CPR.she was
yelling at me to let her just die."YOU think I.want to live as some sort .of
freak!" she screamed at me."Isn' as a freak, .Better then being dead
mother?".Then.I felt hatred.Towards the person.That had done this/to her.i
wanted revenge
i guess this angel told me
.The culprits' name was .freddie, the angel told me
Where I could find him/at this fancy rich hotel.he was a player.a dealer of
hearts.a taker of love.I went there, with an extensive dream gun fully
loaded.As I pictured my mother at home.Trying to.walk .on these new
mechanical type computer.Internet ran legs,
the 2000-year doctors.had prescribed to her, she also had these mechanical
.arms, that led into these pirate like hooks.and my computer illiterate.Dad
was trying to control her functions
crying at this computer keyboard.This was getting to be too.much.this dream.I
had to wake up sooner or later.I was mad.I found the room, to the hotel.this
evil fuck stayed in.A dirty looking../.crack head hooker answered the door.I
grabbed her hair."Where the fuck is he, Freddie?!|".Where!.she quickly told
me.i saw his eyes, I didnt have to ask his Name.i new it was him,/I.grabbed
him by the hair.In my super man strength like.dream.and I smashed his head
into the hotel floor.A good ten.times, as his whore like.Followers begged me
not to kill him.he.was unconscious, as I smirked.And pulled out my long.dong
super fly gun, .and shot out his fucking knee caps
I filled a bathtub with his blood. killed his followers.And drowned.his sorry the tub,Nightmares are never pretty
The What juggler

finger-popping a ditty.. the leaky
slather lubricated dementia butter
cerebellum sprouting spinal loop
around the rosies
backed up the delusion
with a mouthful gobble
swallowing a bit o elevation
dream-handed still choked
on a chunk bouncing threw
my convulsion chain
squawking like deaths door
chewing the life game
belched something
out in the oxygen fuzz
pocket full of

burnt consumed bananas
liver pissed yellow
some gibberish gone
away to bag stuffed
flat tire, lone freeway land
ashes ashes

pulse check, blood pressured up
to the horizons in
spinning horizontals
we all fall down
Whatever kid
paint me a picture of respect
and I'll shit u golden marbles.that u can stick the
lost.monopoly.maze I call home.the coughing fits.have unknown.twitches now.of
daze, in the .radiating wholeness.cryptic..scanned /visions, to be forgotten
.tough to tell.if.the meat is cooked.tender enough.good enough for you
.picking my teeth.spitting out .the bones
Dimensional # 3
Head hummer hoe down
In the empty house .Positives euphoric like.Marshmallow feeling
sweaty.fingers.Can't come up for air.Just yet.Echoing silent attachment.Off
the vast Michigan woods.My backyard rolling.In the snow dog.With a.chewed off
tail.The cats are agitated.With the weather

Pupils the size of apples
And kamel red lights my lungs
My computer is breathing
As the animals sleep

Locked inside
This self inflicted party
I invited myself
To explore the sounds
My name is Billy Pixel. This story I am about to tell you is hard for me to
talk about. When I was born, my Mother almost died giving birth to me.
"He's got one of the biggest pumpkin heads I ever seen!" a nurse yelled, when
I plopped out in to this bloodthirsty world. Those were the first words I
ever heard. It's been pretty much downhill ever since.
My Mother and Father brought me home from the hospital, tied to the back of
my Dad's Harley, wrapped in a blanket that almost suffocated me. My parents
had this strange neighbor friend who had mental problems worse then theirs.
They let this lady baby sit me when they were out dealing drugs, and getting
drunk in bars. This ladies name was Hazel, and to this day I am still scared
to death of her.
She use to drop me on my head, poke me with needles, molest me, yell
horrible things into my ears, stick me in closets, spit in my food, blow
marijuana smoke into my ears, kick me, have her biker friends over to have
their way with me. There are other things I really don't want to mention,
because of the nightmares. She did a lot to me, that woman. I think she was
the Devil's daughter.
This happened with Hazel all the way up until I was 7 years old. But the
torture never stopped after that. I blocked the memories out for many years.
But with a lot of psychotherapy, I have had to re-live every incident of my
childhood as of late.
Hazel was eventually put in prison for something un- related to what she was
doing to me. My parents knew what was going on I believe. They were so high
on drugs, they didn't care, and they would even join in sometimes, playing
Hazel's sick little games with my young innocent mind and body.
I was glad when she was gone, that bitch, that rotten bitch. My parents
weren't much better then Hazel, but occasionally they would feed me left over
scraps of salmon and let me sleep naked in their bed with them. They both
molested me all the time with peculiar sex toys and wooden broom handles. But
they said they loved me afterwards, and that this was a necessary part of
growing up.
"Life ain't fairy tales and ginger bread boy, humans beings are the most
selfish horrible creatures ever to walk this dam earth." My father use to
say. He was a real inspiration, a real positive role model for me. I'm being
"One day angel cups, you are going to leave your mark on this world for all
to see, my boy, my lovely little boy Billy." My mother use to say. Then she
would beat the crap out of me in a drug-induced rage.
By the time I was ten, I was addicted to heroin just like my parents. They
thought it would be fun to have me zonked out all the time. So they started
shooting me up with heroin when I first turned ten. This was fine by me,
probably the nicest things those bastards ever did for me. I still remember
the first time the drug rushed through my blood, and I melted in to a new
world of bliss for a short period of time. Saggy eyelids, numb fingers, and
not a care in the world.
My folks use to get so high on heroin, booze, and cocaine that they would
practice their tattoo artwork on my body. I've still got all the tattoos and
junkie scars, just in case you were wondering. I hated that dam tattoo gun,
it was extremely painful. But I was quite accustomed to pain at that point.
Nothing much surprised me anymore.
My Dad was a Malibu drug dealer, pretty big time I guess. He was a member of
the Hell's Angels biker group, along with my Mother. They supplied most of
the drugs to fellow members of the group, and the rest of Southern California
I suppose. I never had to go to school, because my father was so paranoid
about getting busted, and having to meet teachers and what not. He tried to
keep things low key.
PHD in gin and tonics, son
Well, I'm working on my PHD in Whiskey, Pa
My father, he's a genius of sorts
mathematical wizard
Phd's, and physics founder.of humor=he laugh's heavily at
his jokes
he thinks I'm a professor
.of trying to impress.I to am a genius sometimes
but our genius's
like our love
Is a zillion countries
Or a molecule gone
tried this, tried that
Don't wanna do that
Don't wanna do this
what ya gonna do?
Isn't living enough
i am something to myself
not to the rest of you
And him
his red shiny nose
Veins, his opinions
all mixed in to
gin and tonics
and formula's I could
care less about
slamming logs in to his fire
place, every fucking night
annoying noises, so loud
forceful, panic sounds! I mean
me paranoid
I'm startin to look
like the old man
both twitchy for a drink
me, scared shitless,
stoned out of my gore
as usual, like my daily ash picking

at least my nose is growing
W.C. fields, some have said
who the hell is he?
I say
I don't care
And my dad knows it
Just as I know
Ties can be cut
Like farts
In the wind
The smell never lasts
When you live
in different worlds
I give up Pops
nice to meet ya


5 am coffee and resin hits
a little radio
radiant fuzzy voices
from Detroit
suppose to be
looking for a job
can't seem to gather
the wanting to work
6am, rolling cheap tobacco
more coffee, a splash of rum
computer on download
another space to fill
empty wallet, nothing new
7am feel a turd brewing
time magazines, and toilets
my cat waiting
for me to flush
loves that swirly water
8 am bacon vitamins
nail clippers crunch
fly in coffee
9 am stares at a novel's
cover, doesn't open it
decide to wait another day
before the job thing
10 am artwork
crumples it up
sleepy head bed time
she is a hermaphrodite
Cup a Couple
Bastard Paychecks

Loli pops for Lucy luscious jolly good day
Frog like breath stink Her tongue licking
abilities in the factory
A plastered on smirk giving in to the vile man the
He muttered the words caressing the hero's villain humans
"Love ya babe" lusting for flesh filled like robots
To his mindless pink lipped beer foam assembled
Wife oozing from her functions
Tampon stench insides go about
Readers digest soap she miserably moans their lives
Broom dusting about nothing much waiting till
Mopping up as he ker plumps the clock hits 5
The mess the roll another day
His intoxicated of fat like like the last
Bohemian belly sloppy leg digging
Swaying up and down around his goofy faced through repetitive
Round and round melody haired noises
Sweeping things busted nut waiting for
Under a rug a tombstone
Beast of sorts with no name
With crummy taste
He was
Perfect for
The Jezebel

copyright 1999



Nicholas Morgan is a California native, living in Michigan and has a website JELLYGUN PRESS
at in collaboration with exceptional artist Andrew Burd, creator of BoOka Studios Digital Media

Nicholas Morgan has been published in:

Progress ( )
Bardo Burner ( )
Fiction and Poetry Society ( )
The ho!d ( )
Unlikely Stories ( )
Saga ( )
Tales from the Vault ( )
MindKites (
Carved in Sand (
Physikgarden ( )
Beehive ( )
3 A.M. Publishing ( )
The Blue Review (