Rubber coated clouds bounce through the sky today

There is a fog of deceit in the city, and a fog of tradition in the country

The cable that runs between continents is rusted but functional

The world plods into the future, repeating the past

Things are good, but they are not great

Most of people try to find their way without really looking

Apparently, only the cynics actually look

The names of everything are temporary and unkempt

The names of everything do not lead anywhere

All the insects of the world would together outweigh all the animals

And that is simply put the beauty of very simple things

How many oceans do we really need to keep us afloat?

What number do I call to order one more?

Most things use battery life

Those that don’t, use the sacred

The sacred is that which we harbor from the winds of truth

Life happens in reverse

You die then you live

You know then you understand

Strange colors streak the brain

It is not a pinkish milkshake, but a swinging set of hues and tones

Multiples are better than singles, that’s love

Buying in bulk is cheaper too

C.R.E.A.M

Crime washes away the best endings, the endings that bring painless tears

Crop circles mean only one thing, pigs on the loose

We are alone in the universe

Remember, we are alone with the universe

Us and the universe. That makes two, so we are really not alone

It is good to see the world as a stick of bubblegum

Chew it, and be free

Today I saw a geyser of gum erupt from the plastic bottle I was carrying

Helpless to arrest the torrent I felt like baggage on the side of the road

Unwanted refuse, unable to capture the care of another

I stood watching the ejaculation ruin the floor, a violent elemental force without a plug

It flowed out 15 feet in the air through an algebraic arc and 15 feet back down to earth.

This outpost will be destroyed in time,

So I struggle to keep the walls upright and I must keep moving

Beyond the suffering there is the next struggle, in the face of apocalypse

We will be flooded over by gum

Such a furious loss will be met with panic at first and later, grief

Grief is apathy and grief is war

The gum cannot be overcome

I set the stool down to cry, because that is what I needed to do

Heaven is not today, tomorrow perhaps, I must keep moving

Gum is so sticky, so hazardous, it does not decompose.

I cry a little more because gum does not decompose,

What can stop this geyser?

I alone, cannot. We together, can try, They, then, simply must.

And this is what life is, the things that are necessary if life is to continue, that is, work.

Beyond life is sweet dripping joy,

Turn the knob left for a full onslaught,

Turn the knob right for a string of glistening beads emerging one by one endlessly

It will happen soon I must keep believing.

By Christina Violante

Dear B,

For the first dozen years of my life

I relished in being heartbroken over love

I didn’t think I was capable of experiencing.

I practiced gracefully restraining sobs

so I could still look elegant and pityingly beautiful

no matter which “the one” was prancing away.

I prayed to god that when I finally did get my heart broken

it would be so devastatingly epic

that breathing becomes a conscious decision.

Did he know you were really just a failed dancer

that someone pitted so much

they asked if you could sing something nice?

Did he know that you never really made love

but fucked whoever would tell you, you were pretty

and buy you lunch?

I think if he did he would have stayed.

He wouldn’t have slapped you off that pedestal

when he found out

you had the hand-writing of a twelve year old boy

and you still drooled in your sleep.

How could you be so amazing,

but so disposable?

Dear Billie, do you wonder if he thinks of you

when he touches himself?

Do you wonder if he smiles when he comes

all alone with only a dirty t-shirt

to catch it in?

I bet he plays your records

when he folds his clean cotton clothes.

I bet he kisses things

too cold and stale to be memories of you.

I bet he has a fetish for that sort of a thing.

I bet there never was a he that broke you

though there is a he that broke me.

He told me you never really wrote those songs

and Billie Holiday is a made up name.

By Christy Delehanty

she was
sneak-up-on-you sexy
all curls
and brains and hair
and intertwined with the subjunctive
case of Dove conditioner’s dreams
of marine additions, strands
like noodles, and a softer
water that someday comes.

she saw
the breaking off of
hair layers and Blistex tips
(when they meet their ends
in time)
as counter-tragic, Lion King.

and she
the queen of tar touch
to a pedicure, of
grapeseed to a toe was
only saddened by a snowmelt,
never rains.
and oh I watched her

breaking branch new sinew
by twisting—
then shaving her head just
to better braid

By Hallie Hinkhouse

it’s a mad mad world, he says

smile pretty girl, smile while rough tips thumb your face

fragile bones that pulse and ache under attack; so brace

yourself, girl take this handful of cloth/skin and clench

your crotch [hands] to forge a wo(wow!)man-made trench

teeth/feet grind furious under heat, this is not a flaw

it is like a post-rock noise-pop symphony made of straw

burning by ashes of falling cigarettes [...] s t o p drop

roll won’t help you now “it’s a mad mad world” nonstop

song on repeat; look, mini-arrows bisecting circles light up

recycling symbols asking for it to never end, zoom in – close up

beads of this [that, too] on your mused expression; they say “tolerate”

them all with open stick-arms and non-boobs, ritual of the pre-date

war with makeup and scales. listen, you penises, don’t shrivel

in the cold and open air of full-frontals, let’s keep this civil

by the democratic compromise and check the lies at the door

along with pocket watches and black robes – strike the rapport

exes mark boxes with positives so you can scrap the dried

tears from your fastened eyes and SEE each, side-beside