Dr. Randall Rogers

It is the present no matter what time or date you read this. That is the beauty and pain of everything, including transporting thunk memories and futuristic scenarios. We have to be hopeful, after all death will save us all. For a while.


Now let’s get to poetry. Poetry involves thought-words. Writing it is fun. Or should be. Getting rejected submitting it to editors is not. Therefore we at the Transgender Lesbian Cowboy are temporarily altering our editorial policy. To engender submissions (from same-sex women) we are hereby resorting to a publish-all philosophy. No worry, we shall separate the wheat from the chafed in time, and quite probably retain the by-product. And promote it gaudily. Did you know fanfare means trumpets blowing? Not strumpets, trumpets. Larger than life little Donalds. Not McDonald’s, the real thing. The real secret sauce. Not just Thousand Island. No person is a Thousand Island – though Xavier Holland comes close. Tried to watch the film “Caligula” the other day, on the Ffilms.org free film site but the site of the naked Malcolm McDowell scared me off. Too with O’Toole, Peter and his scruffy Tiberiun countenance. I prefer my Malcolm drugging at the milk-bar. My O’Toole fastened down in my trousers. But Oh! The Caitlin of it all! Where, dare I ask, or whom, kept the dis-members only, ah, thing? Oh my lord and how long was the operation?


But forget all that. Forget all you can, even the intrusive memories, good and bad. Good because inevitably good turns into bad, and bad because…ah…well don’t forget the bad memories because the bad turns to good. Just ask Fredric Nietzsche when he is trans-valuing the lips of a horse. I remember watching ABC’s “Wide World of Sports” when I was a young humanoid and they always talked about “the agony of da-feet” when they showed a crashing ski jumper. I guess Italian influence has permeated culture more than ancient Rome. Also, I was at a bar in Phnom (Phnom means hill) Penh, Cambodia, speaking to an Englishman, insisting England was “a whole gay nation” when he did some silly-assed begging to differ. Great American I am I won the argument when I told him he was in denial and I don’t mean standing in a river in Egypt. The lady Khmer bartender laughed ( I was sitting slouched slurring words at the bar) and I hands downed the little slap and tickler. After all when I discovered they call underclassmen “faggots” at Eaton I just knew they weren’t calling them “bundles of sticks”. But enough for now, though this now will be present whosoever whensoever anysoever ganders upon these signifiers in any galaxy, universe, tiny or big, anywhere, anytime, if they make it.

Let’s make it; write, submit, we publish, all, for now. Let us immortalize at least for…for now…an always present at different times, everywhere. But I’m still angry for all those years the Lone Ranger was calling Tonto tonto which means “stupid” in Spanish. But what after all, can you do? Except die, to live on. Live on with your own written poetry published all by us, we cowboys of the unsure, confused kind. Thank your graciousnesses and right honorable highness-es of all kinds, for all times, of all places, in all ways. Even Muslims may your bombs dud and aims not be true…God willing.


The some kind of range rat,

Randall 4/19/2017


Matthew Borczon



spoke about


in the

third person

and had

a permanent

boil on

his cheek

the size

of an apple


he had

worked at

the adult

book store

for years

as 1st

shift manager

at the

end of

every day

he would

tell us

to be sure

to remember

“call Larry

in case

of cunt”


so we

called him

Larry the

cunt and

in my

year at

the book

store no


ever came

in to

buy or

sell anything

much less

give it



so we

never called

Larry or

thought much

about him

after his

shift ended.



the adult book store


it was
a job
I could
get without
a resume
just 3
and the
ability to
run a
cash register

so I
learned the
price of
dildos and
the difference
Ginger Amber
and Mercedes
Lynn I

learned never
ask a
customer what
can I
do for
you on
Gay Movie
Monday and
a hundred
other things
I would
never get
to use

in the small
town college
I went to
not as
a freshman


Adult books and toys


some of

the dildos

were so

big I

could not


who could

use them


and the

local drag

queen was

better looking

than most

of the

girls I

went to

college with


and one

night a

guy OD’ed

in the

big video

room but

after the

police and


left the

mess was

no harder to

clean than

the piss

and jizz

on the

floor of the

peep show

booths in



Michael Lee Johnson

Heaven is My Horse Fly (V2)

By Michael Lee Johnson


A common horse fly

peripatetic traveler

vacationing in my world

into my bathroom,

(ride me cowboy, fly)

it’s summer time-

lands on my toilet seat

pit stops at Nikki’s Bar & Grill,

kitty litter box, refuels.

Thirteen round trips

buzzing my skin and skull-

he calls them “short runs.”

Steady pilot, good mileage,

frequent flier credits.

I swat his war journey,

splat, downed, then, an abrupt end.

Grant Guy

She Sleeps Soundly Beside Me


Grant Guy


I reached out to her but she was gone
She sleeps soundly beside me
Our voice had stopped kissing in the fog of time
She sleeps soundly beside me

I kept my hands in my pocket
When she needs a hand to reach the zenith
She sleeps soundly beside me

The hot afternoon of love flows

As a river to the vast ocean
She sleeps soundly beside me

Now bitter tongues remain silent in the halls of romance
She sleeps soundly beside me
Our words are bullets of dystopic of open wounds
She sleeps soundly beside me


She sleeps soundly beside me

And I nightmare in exchange




She Said. I Said


Grant Guy


She said, “Ever used cocaine?”

I said, “No.”

She said, “It will make you really horny.”

I thought to myself, ”

She wants me.”

She snorted to show me how it is properly done.

I snorted.

I fell asleep.


She went to the bar and got laid.


J.J. Campbell

nearly twenty years ago


remember the lost

eyes of the lesbian

you fell in love with

nearly twenty years



remember the

maddening nights

of tequila, cigarettes

and a beautiful waitress

that wanted to party


remember the chaos

of third shift jealousy

constant rumors and

the evil powers that



remember the memorial

day weekend where you

wished her goodbye

and good luck


she’s married to a woman

now and just a few hours

up the road


you’re still single and

living with your mother


with plenty of cruel

twists to come

Jonathan Butcher

Our Shell

It finally stops down those dirt tracks.
Past the leaking windows and rodent
gnawed carpets. Past the parks we
routinely defaced, which now stand
pristine; a constant insult to injury.

It settles in those bedrooms, which
exist as talismans of order, like migrating
sparrows perched on frayed telephone wires.

It settles in that last drop of cider, that no

throat can bring itself to bear.


It now finally shakes us, rattles the teeth

from our gums and weakens our legs

so we can finally remain static. We

suffer its kick-back again; slaves to nothing

now but this comforting boredom.