By Sam Lohmann:
(from Shake Well)
* * * * * * * * *
OK
Cancel day
& wreak delite—
A burlap boxkite
diary instead—installed
with respect to the dead
stall in the skip
to hear the dust
hum the thin black letters
. . . . . . . . .
Can you hear the harbor going flat
Rotten odds dilute the timbre
Basic black all down the line
to spite description
A ritual shucking
Someone wrote
ARM WRESTLING
PRESSED GLASS MIX
on a cardboard box
. . . . . . . . .
Our hands can’t share a shadow
much less open a building
Crying restarts the video game
“Glow-in-the-Dark Nite Thoughts”
this time slightly fuzzier
that potion is your last life
extended in a perfect cartwheel
towards the dead
& I’m totally winning
By Linda Russo:
SHORT CRISP CHIP
flight call is a
sharp, distinctive plick
what
is happiness?
driven out into the
rain, not an ordinary rain
but the rain of
unselfconsciousness
studded with letters
of introduction
I am thus
connected, the human right or rite
of many centuries, a
spectacle
which seems to be
in conflict
the
call is a short crisp chip rich with possibility
I react to people
one way
but I could react
that way
