wound farm

it's the city where i came of age
it's shitty now to turn the page

i just burned a lot of gas being
courteous to your speeding ass

stuntman, prankster, answer to
neighbor: i'm not drumming for

therapy-- it's entertainment. i've
got a wound farm in my privates.


by Hoolie

desmadrona

oh my god I
haven't been breathing I'd
like to blow my breath in
and out

does self-sacrifice make
me pagan, or a mission
why

in this last
quadrant before I die,
what?

I want, and I still
want, and not for
nothing


Ilyn
"By Shab's heaving belly."

Shrinking of society

You and all this will be a
waste of all five bedrooms

the dog fence, only for you
to watch and wait for vines

more likely light content-
ment creeps back, deepened

as for me elderly canine
duty instead of last-chance

graduate school, or hiking
in the Pyrenees, gratefully


by Jan
"Remember you get the house, Jan."

Acceptable level of heartbreak

If you want to be around and clean
up my mess I will make and make
make messes

If you go i'm crying in my stomach
and I throw up anything I encounter
is puke

I can't even look at who you will be
without my strengths and cancella-
tions.


by Donna

Bucket Wig

ringlets, but swept up from the back
and brushed impossibly forward
then wrapped at the end like Kon-
Tiki, and the tendrils, lolling dots
of colored glass as from a horn.