beginning to learn my bit part in the cosmic peekaboo
~Patrick Sweeney
unless
I am corrupt never it could not
~J. D. Nelson
the mystical ardor in which she picks up a stone
~Patrick Sweeney
in the tree canopy nesting warheads
~Roberta Beach Jacobson
scraping the full-belly comments in the garbage can
~Patrick Sweeney
black mail blots in my lover’s copybook
~Patricia Hawkhead
fly is lectured idea rays
~J. D. Nelson
spider sense
at the base of my skull
the cup of his hand
~Patricia Hawkhead
A weather forecast—
It
will not rain in some days.
Suddenly it began to storm and rain.
I bow down to nature—
The unpredictable met office.
~Partha Sarkar
highways closed yet
wind speeds at 100
miles per hour
~Jennifer Gurney
street art
canvases abandoned
at the curb
~Roberta Beach Jacobson
listen bub, unloading their carts
nobody wants a lecture
on the history of cinnamon
~Patrick Sweeney
Those
are not
my
packages.
~Noah Berlatsky
all these years, the number of leaves on a shamrock
~Patrick Sweeney
spoon fed thin soup indeed
~dan smith
in eschatological terror of long-range planning
~Patrick Sweeney
sliced green apple praying hands
~J. D. Nelson
the Uber driver has a solution to the smash and grab
~Patrick Sweeney
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