Blue jay mornings and rhubarb smiles:
mix tapes for going around corners.

A newborn ant has been wonderfully forgotten on the mountain
deep inside the kaleidoscope of warm pastel semitones
drowning in the forest surrounding it

and how I walk past it on my hike, glance at it, and realize
how many millions of others I’ve never noticed
how no one will probably ever notice him 
or his brothers again like this, like I did just now.

My ears are buzzing. My eyes are suspended
in a short film playing only this Thursday.

They clean the streets later on tonight
but we’re on our bikes until
they force us off the streets 
no not necessarily back inside but maybe out into the open
for I think it would be better to stay on the beat
maybe admire the curbmoppers and windowlickers 
and Dali dalmatians cleared of all their spots and inconsistencies 
now they’re ferocious little white terriers chasing us under fences
and for once in our lives we’re the rainbow trout shimmering
in reverb harmonies under the acoustic stream, the caustic meadow,
under the stern of the ship desperate to be caught
perhaps even more desperate to be released again. The steam engine
blows shrill, an aggravated howl of exertion and 
even though all we can hear down here is muted vibrations
we know it’s time to be caught.
I want to be captured for once

(our incandescent swansong)
man when our humanity is packed deep
in the eyes of our pupils for others to see—
visceral in the hues. And when our retinas
are recording their new vision playing Next Thursday
with no film in the camera because we’ll live into
another era if we continue to behave like this
just little static stereoscopic saints

singing something sweet and beautiful to each other

“I love you man—
please don’t let them get to you”

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by Angela Barton 

He was known by my friends as dirt,

but I saw inside,

by Thomas J. Clark

Tossing up over patched roadway,

On a mild, dead, February night,

We were shooting up to 85 North

From down East on the perimeter.

It was the way back.

My stomach climbed my chest

Like a vine;

Not for the turbulent ride,

Or the highway speed,

But for the heaviness of thirty or so dark miles more,

Pressing my head to the passenger side window,

Cracked enough for the mercy

Of a half-cold wind

To breathe over our still faces.

Every streetlamp on the way

Cast us yellow before our shadows,

Severe and frozen,

When I caught them at every flicker.

I watched you too, even in the darkness between lamps.

You steered and drove onward, with a tired right hand

And straining eyes.

For a few more seconds,

A few more flickers in the dark

As we travelled on, I watched

Your closed eyes

Long enough to take the wheel

And point us straight,

Long enough to realize,

How far we were from halfway home.

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by Profound Mercenary

It started off a normal day

Kicking it with the cows and dogs

When Farmer Ted

Dragged me to his office

Sorry to say this but you’re moving

HE’s coming tomorrow to take you away

I can’t believe what Farmer Ted just said

HE was the worst thing that

Can happen to an animal like me

HE comes in and takes you away

Then takes you to a factor far away

From all the people you ever loved

HE came and I said my goodbyes

Then was shoved to the back of truck

I was given a shot and fell fast asleep

Next thing I know I was soaked

In bowl while someone chopped me up

Next to the bowl was a box

Shake n Bake

Little by little I was put into a bag of brown batter

Then this mysterious women shook me up and down

Then shoved me in an oven

An hour later I was taken out

Put on a dinner table

To serve a family of four

And that was the last thing I remember

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by L.N. Ferris

The blue, your hair
is circumstance in my eyes
you’re still so warm
and the sun pauses, like me
kissing your shoulder only lasts
a moment. 

Butterfly eyelashes flying over
infinity
“I don’t give a fuck who you are I just
want you.”
We don’t need to breathe. Oh, Lord
we don’t need to breathe.
“Come here.”

Can flowers bloom heat?
Your playground touch brings night to
my knees
A forest of stars to swallow.
Come here, flower
bring me the
heat.

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by Kristin Leprich 

Lie there, still, and live a little longer:

Words I would love to give you, a fool who

Can’t see how the world conspired to

Get us both here without views of traitors.

It’s safe to say you ruined their order,

For sea waves are being stained, red from blue

And the mountains just don’t know what you threw

Over the edge and into the slaughter.

If enemies are good for anything,

It’s for giving time to bask in silence

That’s often filled with words without meaning

Around those who offer all the credence

To this: words just float at the ends of string,

And everyone is just an impedance.

by Brittany Leitner 

You don’t talk enough in the morning.
I look outside and tell you it’s been snowing
It’s beautiful, all is white and you can’t see
that anything like cars or mailboxes ever existed

You must see it, I say, you roll over
and look at me with eyes that say
It snows every day
I might stay home next weekend

And you will go away
But if you will just hold me once more
as we fall asleep, and scratch my head
The way you did the first night

When we were new, and I thought
Wouldn’t it be something if this was it —
I might be able to leave you without
Feeling sorry for me or anyone

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Sacred fruit of legend

Golden and ripe

Rich from growing with time

They hang tight

Strong nimble arms

Until gently plucked from their resting place

Or the days pass by

And they are too old

No longer shiny and brilliant

Reflecting the sun’s shining rays

Like the glint of a broken shard

Left on the ground

Unattended and shattered

One knows they are youthful and filled with joy

When bit into

And sweet juice dribbles down the chin

A gentle cascading river that flows downhill

Don’t let them be wasted

Let their flesh be your strength

From the rich cinder red of autumn

To the pale yellow of morning sunshine

Teasing the leaves of summer trees

They flourish

Hugging one another

Until they part separate ways.

by Nicholas Bonarski 

Painted like a mural
or some decorated church ceiling
staring up to fathom every
perfect changing detail
a moving quilt of patterns
white and wispy
spelling words I’ve never read
and making shapes I’ve never known
a unique brand of graffiti
known only to the ground
painted upon the heavens
and there’s no earthbound
being capable of spraying
that image on the blue
canvas bubble
encompassing this globe.