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DRUNK MONKEYS IS A Literary Magazine and Film Blog founded in 2011 featuring short stories, flash fiction, poetry, film articles, movie reviews, and more

Editor-in-chief KOLLEEN CARNEY-HOEPFNEr

managing editor

chris pruitt

founding editor matthew guerrero

POETRY / Sex Manual / Lissa Batista

Anything goes—anal, a backdoor man, beads of sweat, glossed over 
beads, glass beads, plastic beads, ben wa balls, balls deep, a rosary 
cross to cut cocaine lines chased with cocktails on the bar, you  
dirty dog, give me some sugar, daddy, dirty martinis for the ladies 
eagerly drawn faces, egging each other on, in stalls, an experiment, 
fairy queens fingering each other’s thoughts and glory holes, who  
grew up on Game Boys and cable; channel 99— girls on girls gone 
hot-and-ready, getting horny, baby? Hand-solo that hard on, a horn dog. 
I am a wet dream, I am the WAP, I am the warning, I am a Sex-Jedi,  
jukeboxing your mind, I’m Doja Cat, random erections for that extra 
kick, IYKYK, a kosher knob slobbing, corn on the cob, gawk 3000. 
Listen, lickety split my labia like licorice, your sticky lips, look at me, 
masturbate in front of me, own the masc, mouth off on my pussy, 
naughty girls, nuzzle the fuzz on my face, nymphomaniacs welcome, 
orgasmic aphrodisiac octopuses squirt too, give me ocean pink, stop 
pussy-footing around. Plug it in, pile driver, pickle-me-tickle-me, 
Queen of queers, let’s queef shamelessly, let’s quickie in stalls, let’s 
roughhouse, raw dog then rusty trombone, around-the-clock. 
Spit or swallow? Spreadeagle or spoon fucking? Spit it out already. 
Tail flowers don’t deter me, tribbing ‘til you tap out while teabagging.  
Undress me, undo me, unlike me, unload up the dirt road. I’m hyper- 
ventilating. On the verge. In the valley of love lies Venus, face first. 
Well-hung wanker, whalebone the wind tunnel, wiggling toes. 
X-mas came early, so did you,  I’m Santa Clause, bitch—so giving. 
Yodel into my yellow canal while I yank your yo-yo. You’re done.  
Zip it good, zipper up, zoom out, clear history, open new tab. 


Lissa Batista is a Brazilian-born poet living in North Miami between the palm trees and iguanas. After writing poems, she indulges in karaoke in the safe space of her home with her son and sphynx cat. Her works can be found or forthcoming with Bellingham Review, SoFloPoJo, West Trade Review, Tinderbox Poetry, Cathexis Northwest Press, and others. 

Essay / Soggy / Zachery Noah Rahn

ESSAY / Blood, Embarrassment, Despair / Audrey Petrozzi

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