Jamie Grefe

Grind, Dear Friend, Grind MONDO FATALES ACTION

Pages

facebook me

bio

contact

reading log

forthcoming

abattoir incident

junk art

angelo pulp

berg's matter

birds rest

bitter fake

brain room

brown poems

caldwell's enemy

california

cannibal priestess

corridor one

corridor three

deerhead puppets

doom horizon

drops shots

drowned girl

dusk lung

early death

electric delirium

evil woman

feigned nights

feral doom

fire scars

flamboozled beak

flower stitches

future wounds

giraffe party

girl four

headcheese

horizon regained

interior sloth

jones's girl

livid men

love clutch

lovecraftian krall

lucy lip

map routes

michigone

muck child

mondo ben

nip down

orange shinjuku

over thirteen

palm desert

pierce's doughnut

pigs gather

polluted interiors

possession notes

rain blood

raw gums

risen stay

scanlon's border

slumped

sour pinch

spring breakers

tanzer's mouth

the end

traumathurge

threaten me

touchability

ugly mouth

unfisting

venom mouth

vinegar cutlery

wet spot

wilson's diegeses

worm holes

your hand

plugplug

peckinpah

Archive

RSS

Social

Email

Twitter

Theme
  1. LIES/ISLE: Winter Holes + For a Worm's Night

    I have two poems in the beautiful Desert Issue of LIES/ISLE. Both written while living in Beijing, China under a most massive veil of smog, sandstorms, and grit, I hope you enjoy voicing these poems over and again. As always, thank you for reading. 

  2. Flamboozled in the Beak

    A short piece composed in summer 2012 probably inspired by the works of David Ohle whose influence continues to bubble below the surface. I’m just hoping to capture one of those bubbles, maybe even let it shine for a bit off my teeth, cleanse this rot. Here is an excerpt:

    I’ve split buzzards to sing: bloated tissue, psychic cells quiver neon. Nothing solid to botch the epidemic. The current is blubbery. In the end, Feng doesn’t realize the pain or what electric wires do. They power the city, cake membrane repellent, a haze of clamorous buzz. A buzzard’s brain, frozen open, land-locked and ready to pummel, is the world’s tramp. They shot me. Ode to my struck neck: a beak squawks, volts and rubber splotches. I need a new hitch to sink this crumb: the android, the microbe, the pentagram halo. Feng’s pocket glows when I stroke mashed tongue, lick air. Weathervanes go funny. Not much to tell. I’ll give it a whirl.” 

  3. Obscurities of the Doom Horizon (A Novelette)

    One year in the making, I present to you “Obscurities of the Doom Horizon,” a romantic, post-apocalyptic sci-fi slasher novelette for your reading pleasure. It is built as a novel idea of forty eight interconnected stories. There are creatures dripping goo, brainwashing, crime, paranoia, hallucinations, true love, and much more. If this was a film, I would suspect a hybrid of Lynch and Raimi would have to get on board, would certainly be welcomed. Or, whoever just directed Life of Pi. Perhaps this, this obscurity of the doom horizon, is my Life of Pi. Thank you for reading.

  4. Ugly Mouth

    A new piece, Ugly Mouth, is up at HOUSEFIRE books. This piece was written using their homegrown constraints, which are always some of the best, most blissfully mind-warping constraints and the results—well, you’ll see—the results are this little tale about a heightened France and a woman we all know we will one day become. Maybe. 

  5. Michigone [Dear Misery]

    My short piece, “Dear Misery,” AKA “Michigone” appears in this special epistolary issue from Short, Fast, and Deadly. The issue features six new works by Parker Tettleton who has some excellent new pieces up at elimae, Untoward Magazine, and elsewhere. 

  6. Over Thirteen

    theNewerYork is an excellent magazine and I have a short piece, a list of provocative questions, that grew out of an exercise crafted by Stephen Graham Jones. The questions, as they often do, tell a story. This magazine is available only in print. 

  7. From a Palm Desert Motel (AKA Merl Jaeger)

    I wrote this short poem under the pseudonym “Merl Jaeger” for the very interesting, but not safe for work cult mag, Horror Sleaze Trash. 

  8. Threaten Me, Gash///A Simmering///Paw

    Three poems for your hot summer nights courtesy of DEAD SNAKES. My process was as follows: the poems started off in different forms than the published form that you will read. They were longer. I worked to trim away unnecessary words while still retaining the core of what I wanted to express with each piece.Thank you again to Stephen at Dead Snakes. This is my third time to be up there. 

  9. Lung's Dusk

    Thank you to Shawn Misener for selecting this piece for publication at his Clutching at Straws site. He has an intense collection of “unusual poetry” published there and I’m honored to be a part of it. This one skirts the edge of being vulgar, but perhaps, ends up being slightly disgusting instead. Maybe there is not much of a difference. Is it a matter of perception? One’s tastes? I think so, but could be wrong. Often am. At any rate, it is certainly about mutation and growth and the experience of a bizarre transfiguration. It’s short. Please read it. Thank you. 

  10. Orange Alders///Shinjuku///A New Way of Brushing Teeth

    Three poems via Counterexample Poetics: “Orange Alders” is an anti-Cioranian meditation on the creation of the symbol-using animal. “Shinjuku” is a paroxysm of a story refined into free verse, mixed in a blender, and laced with desire. “A New Way of Brushing Teeth” could be everything you think it is, wide open: a heart-beating non-ritual celebration. Thank you, dear reader, for lending me your ears. 

  11. Black Blossoms; Stitches Like Flowers

    Check Issue #17. A piece originally about a car crash and longing, stripped to its essentials. Thank you to Andrew Borgstrom and J.A. Tyler (I’m not sure who edited more than who, but their hands and hearts are definitely here) for helping to edit this piece. I wrote this fragment/poem in early morning installments from a dining room in northern Michigan. The pink sky is all I remember and the taste of Bunn coffee, Lucky Strikes in the dark. This, like most all of my work, is about love.