Thomas Piekarski

Dig It

Rip the circuitry from its guts; recycle

It as dream waste. Make memories from it,
Give it a name unlike gizmo or gadget;
Don’t train it to do robot antics. Defrock it;
Pull the nails out of its hands. Bless nothing
If not the nothingness light is. Bear blight
As long as breath holds sway. Boil oil
As the lamp dies, out of fuel. Dry eyes
That clamp the music shut. Sing sweet
About charitable apples you plucked.
Bring a heavy ball-peen hammer; pound
Blood into sheets and brand it thought.
Stammer whenever a word enters you.
Clamor for fury only fire can provide.
Deflate innate fiction fizzling; dig it.

Mark Jackley

On the Edge of a Very Small Town

So flat
you can see forever,
which is not halfway

to Clovis.
Which is nowhere.
May as well stay.

Jackie Maugh Robinson

smokin' on the corner

haight - the far horizon blazed electric orange. thousands of iron butterflies slammed through the shadows. ragnar tossed on a cannabis mattress and hummed “in a gadda da vida” in his sleep. as the dusk thickened to oblivion, the far horizon smoldered.

ashbury - tune in, turn up the song. keep time on your air guitar you don’t need meaning. hitch a ride. the words don’t matter; hitch a ride. come on, get in. hitch a ride but leave your back pack in the road. you don't care if you have to dance alone you like inanity, feeling the insanity; you get off on profanity. you don’t let ‘em get close to who you are. if they start to creep inside your mind you’re outa there.