Ronnie Peltier – 3 poems


You are too good for this life

those bloody scissors hanging from the hand of god
in my visions, are they yours?
Did they poke through condoms with something inside?
I want to know so I don’t feel myself slipping into that bloody tube

when you take naked pictures of yourself
sliding off of greasy couches
I won’t always be able to blur out your face

I will feed you grapes from the day-care center
but you may keep eating
and they never put a jockstrap on Michelangelo’s David

Besides I can’t stop vomiting into the bathwater
and as your hair solidifies with bile they are laughing at you
I am not there. I AM NOT THERE!

Will you spend your last minute with me?
When I look at my thighs I see death,
but when I eat those extra bottles of baby food
I love abortion



Hail Mary, Full of

can I poke like I used to
right in the middle
of the eager bellybutton
don’t force my hands onto that
face and around these chest hair mouths
oh you say mousta-che
well check this creaking
gap in my teeth for any detritus
from that neighborhood kid

I really can’t help it
you’ve gotta believe
that when I wake up at 3PM
in the shower with all the glass
closed and the water up to my neck
it’s certainly not intentionally
misleading in a way that wouldn’t
cause some kind of alarm
that bloody rabbit had fur
like a goddamn porcupine

Yes of course it was my blood
don’t breathe like that
or you’ll get cancer in
5687 days 3 hours 27 minutes and 3 seconds
and when that sweaty kid next
door is poking you
he’ll notice a lump or a lemon
I really apologize for the unspecificity
there are too many people
with oddly bent windpipes
and they won’t stop
whistling through their whispers

for just a brief moment
long enough to really grind
my gums in the front where there’s
no teeth just these weird, flat bones
I just want to feel the pink on pink
like twin baby girls
I only had a son and back then
I used manure and straw
I’m so used to brown these days
and he was (is) too



Rape Culture

The river is the village and
the milk curdles. Inhibition
relics as the bodies float
and burst against each other. The
sinking stumps are fuzzy and black.

The twelve year olds all showed up
wearing the same alien costume
and the abortions all crawled here with
the same wretched expression:
semen, chaos, and faggot decay.

The pink lip gloss smears because
your latex mask isn’t tight enough.
Filthy tribal tranny with an AK-47
on your bed. A butcher knife is
recommended for heavy petting.




Ronnie Peltier was born and raised on a ranch near Houston, Texas.  He currently resides in South Bend, Indiana where he studies creative writing and art history.




About gobbet

gobbet is a literary magazine dedicated to publishing the very best experimental poetry and prose. Intellectual perversity and explorations of dark themes are positively encouraged. We are only interested in work that is progressively experimental. We want to see risks, and we want to see them pay. No previously published work. Prose should not be longer than 1000 words. There are always exceptions. Send 3-5 poems. Include a short bio. Send submissions to Work will be published every 5-10 days. We also intend to publish anthologies of selected work published in gobbet. We will do our best to reply promptly. Most submissions will receive a decision within a month.
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