Canned

By Nicole I-Nesca

About the Book

Prose and poetry about sex, love, death and art. Urban writing at its finest

About the Author

Nicole Nesca was born in Youngstown, Ohio in 1973. She developed a love of music, painting and writing early on and continued that love throughout her adult life. While living in Canada, she completed three works of poetry and prose collected in the anthology piece, KAMIKAZE WHITE NOISE, and another two books of poetry and prose. She has been published in several E-Zines and has been a part of two anthologies.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ukiyoto Publishing
• Release date: Apr 29, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463432976

Book preview

Canned

NICOLE I-NESCA

Ukiyoto Publishing

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All global publishing rights are held by

Ukiyoto Publishing

Published in 2019

Content Copyright © Nicole I-Nesca

Reserved rights by Screamin’ Skull Press

www.screaminskullpress.com

Original Cover Art by Nicole I-Nesca

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in a retrieval system, in any form by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher

The moral right of the author has been asserted

This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated, without the publisher’s prior consent, in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published.

lack

your complete lack of interest only excites me.

you serve only as the lightning crash

after the big storm.

the last conceivable noise in a sleeping brain.

forgotten.

lost in the translations of a complete day turned night.

eye lids flutter now

heart

pumps

knowing that tomorrow will bring the same.

father lied to save my feelings.

too late.

these thoughts,

these emotions,

these feelings,

swirled down the soapy dirty drain.

continue barking and howling,

the cries of the street.

pretending the lies of youth,

your story will not remain.

drink another line.

smoke another dream.

regurgitate and feed,

the crowd you so create.

and,

when that last orgasm,

that last lover’s cry,

begins to fade…

that complete lack of interest,

will excite me.

random thought

they are words that smash and crash.

some hold meaning.

others own the significance of spittle

found on the end of chewed pencil.

they are mine.

reads so serious they never learned the definitions of laughter.

they’ve never heard that particular peculiar sound.

some, blushing pink form the nipple colored gum bubbles of an era i’ve never known.

some, as acidic as the original rust removing Coca-Cola.

nevertheless, they are mine.

i liken some of my work to a horrible indie band lyric.

speaking only to a few downtrodden citizens.

indignant and pissed without a pot to blame.

gods and the randomness of the universe?

swimming.

lost between the year of birth and the undeniable present.

bobbing and treading.

sending SOS transmissions to the literary literate and to those who know how to read.

and, i enjoy complaining and pontificating.

safe.

safe on my worn blue couch.

swilling wine and gobbling down a twenty dollar pizza.

while wishing i had an extra twenty-seven cents a day

to give to the Save the Children fund.

i can have an abortion.

i can move through the country showing skin.

i can speak my mind.

openly.

in public.

my cousin owns Prada.

my father is a bigot.

i pay eighteen dollars for a plate of pasta

and eleven dollars for a pack of smokes

and, i am reminded of words and meanings

that i’ve