Trampled Underfoot somewhere off Route 7 by Welton B Marsland

It’s raining outside
when you fuck him in your car
rivers beat on the windows,
pulse beats in your cock
as you fight your way
inside each other’s space
and clothes
and defences.
On hands and knees
on leather
on bitching suspension,
the car creaks and
calls you a cocktease ‘cos
you’re screwing him so shallow,
spit-shined knob reeling him in slow
before fucking him hard
like a bass chord
like a John Paul Jones
There’s pounding on the roof
when, beneath your hands,
he twists under you
and looks up and back,
pins you naked like you aren’t
right now
and tells you
“I like this song.”


Originally published in CQ6: Smut.

Welton B. Marsland

Still tickled I managed to get cars, fucking, bass guitars & Led Zep into one short poem. Twitter at me here – @wbmarsland

partial memories of friday night by Liz Duck-Chong

i fell asleep on a train,
woke up in a new place,
well, not a new place, but i
didn’t have all my bearings – a
place less travelled, found
my way back where i’d
come from, wrapped in
scarves slowly unravelled.

the bus fell halted, held
askew, we watched the
view, two headlights illuminated
a brick wall and shop, it
had spun like a star out
ahead of us til a full stop.
then drove into the night.

i leaned into a shoulder,
passing lights overhead as
we swam into the sounds
of an album growing older;
she held me, an inverse,
i’d usually hold her, i told
her, she laughed. i leaned
harder, felt colder.

i divulged a whole secret,
there’s not that many left
but i’d managed to keep it
held tight to my chest as
a symbol of individuality,
let it boil inside me, gently
steep it. maybe it changed
me, i’m not sure. yes i mean


Originally published in CQ5: Poetry.

Liz Duck-Chong | she & they | 5
Liz is a writer, sexual health nerd and filmmaker who has had articles, poetry and essays in a range of publications. She co-hosts wholesome sex ed show @letsdoitpodcast, and is on Twitter at @lizduckchong.

Fabric by Hannah Aroni

Vittoria’s office is small and warm. The wallpaper peels from the walls and the window frame rattles in even the mildest wind; if you look too long at the details of the room, they seem brittle, dry, like the wings of an old moth under glass at the edge of an entomologist’s vast proud display. But there is a fireplace in the office; improbably, there is a fireplace on the second floor of a seven floor office building, and code violations must surely be involved, because whenever a client visits a fire burns there, but no client remembers seeing smoke rising from the building as they enter or leave. It is the sort of thing they would remember, surely. If they look long enough into the fire, the shape of the room grows rounder and the walls seem to fill out, less moth and more leather, more mushroom. Continue reading Fabric by Hannah Aroni

Trans trucks by Alison Evans

originally published in CQ1

Alison Evans  |  they, she & he
Alison is co-editor of Concrete Queers and loves it with the fiery passion of a thousand million burning suns. They also wrote a book called Ida which is a queer YA spec fic genre mash up. You can find him on twitter @_budgie

Calling out, calling in by Lisa-Skye

Calling out, Calling in: Making a safe space for queer audiences in comedy 

Stand up comic Lisa-Skye explores the Melbourne comedy room scene. She IDs as a queer, polyamorous, non-cis Femme Daddy & safe/sane/consensual BDSM advocate. 

‘Yesterday, my wife asked me what I’d do if I were a woman for a day. What I’d do if I were a woman for the day? I’d clean this kitchen, for a start!’

I was at a popular comedy night. More popular than most in Melbourne – about 60 audience members, who, to my disappointment (but not surprise) ate up the bullshit the headliner was coughing out.

This was no open-mic comic, no green first- or second-timer. He was a seasoned international act. And the crowd loved it.   Continue reading Calling out, calling in by Lisa-Skye