New Poetry from Max Thrax

Punk Noir Magazine


In 1973

Leonardo Vitale

Gave himself up

To the Palermo police

He wanted to talk

About certain things

After finding God

He told the inspector

He burned his clothes

And smeared himself

In shit

Now he was ready

To talk

The inspector

Didn’t believe Vitale

Placed him with a doctor

Locked him away

After his cure

Vitale’s old friends

Gunned him down

As he walked home from Mass

With his mother

The inspector cried

He knew no longer

Men of honor


The world’s largest 

Consumer of concrete

Gone domes

And basilicas

Block on block

Hiding the mainline

Above a gray beach

The pizzeria plays Alessio

A woman half-frozen 

Mounts her horse

If they caught fire

It would only kill

The people

You have to wait

For these buildings

To kill themselves


He threw back his head

And asked

Why they were laughing


Is named

After the chief justice

Of the Salem Witch Trials

No puritans live here

More rats than commuters

On the station floor

Five nail salons

A church with broken shingles

And Club Alex’s

Brockton has Rocky and Marvin

Sharon has money

Stoughton has a growing eight inch tooth

That it must grind

Or else


Gnaws in the morning

Devours at night


BIO: Max Thrax lives in Boston. His stories and poetry have appeared in Bristol Noir, Versification, Shotgun Honey, and The Daily Drunk. Find him online at or on Twitter @ThraxMaximilian.