pioneertown.

John Zedolik: give him 20/20 vision, maybe turn them toward himself and even x-ray in, where I’m sure the drinks stack up, and he can count: one, two, three, and four—or he can just ask me since I poured them all for him

Matt Dennison: We children, fed, all went up the same stairs under the same whips in the same darkness of the same nights and never passed another on the way

S.D. Dillon: Depending on this or that, the lake side powers the barn for weeks. Shanked reeds mark the badger’s den until a rose under the bridge funks it all up

Matt Zambito: and waking hungover and horny in a fenced field full of donkeys in New Mexico. Old Mexico sounds like a kind of phantom nostalgia I feel about some dead bards

Martha Ryan: Melodrama, my sick muse, forced by inaptitude. My friend replies in a language I never learned, better than sinking into someone’s arms deceived by understanding:

Darren Demaree: blood in the snow & the late summer odes & let the melodrama cook in the plastic wrapper we’ve gifted to everything. Be after midnight with me

Robert Cowan: I could high-tail it out when I didn’t feel like it and curl up in her lap when I felt the trust. This sensitivity is crucial to maintaining balance. Like landing on your feet. One of our many cat skills.

Steve Minnich: the universe expands infinitely as infinity expands. Gravity Man looks with wonder at the little moon just above his head, its silvering in the glow of a greater gravity.