A quick look down a hole
Wheel me to a quick fix
Wheel me to the finish
A quick look down a hole
Down a hole

Strap me to the elevator
Stand me up
Stand me on my feet
Strap me to the elevator
The elevator

Tears slide out of my skin
Afraid to be alone
Afraid to be in front
Tears slide out of my skin
Out of my skin

I stand by the way you died
Could’ve been quicker
Could’ve been slower
But I stand by the way you died
I stand

© Chad Ewers, 2010

I spoke to her last night,
years ago-
when we were both in the same room,
and she told me how happy she was-
proud she was
of me.

We spoke yesterday evening,
years ago-
when I had moved on
and she had stayed where she was for now-
but was almost ready,
almost ready to go someplace warmer.

We spoke yesterday afternoon,
years ago-
when her hair was strawberry blond
from the Florida sun
and she told me how happy she was
for herself.

I spoke last night,
last night-
when she was away from me-
away from all of us.
And I knew how happy she was
that we knew she saw us.

© Patti Azzara, 2010

                                        Oh god, her.
What a charming outfit.
                                        That dress makes her look huge!
                                        What was she thinking?
It’s been quite a while-
how are the kids?
                                        Pretentious, spoiled brats.
And Joe? 
                                        He didn’t deserve that promotion.
                                        Look at her gloat.
I hear you are involved
in a new charity?
                                        Not another one. Another
                                        new crack. Really, what next?

It’s been great catching up! You know,
we should do lunch sometime.
                                 
                                          Gag me, if you ever call I promise
                                          I will vomit.
Alright, well, goodbye!
                                          And good riddance. I really just
                                          cannot stand that woman.

Oh, Mrs. Pale, fancy meeting you here!
How lovely to see you.

© Shelly Holder, 2010

will be the recognition of our home for the first time.

© Andrej Grilc, 2010

© Marcin J. Kuhn 2010

[others]

taking the spray, aiming
for his eyes.  At lunch
maids gab about sex.  Ali blurts,
Why don’t you have kids?
Jess, 21, says she wants to be

a therapist.  Talk turns
to unmade beds.  $7.50 an hour.
Roachy guests.  A rare tip.
Jess would abandon ship,
but she can’t afford a car,

depends on the bus.  All wrong,
she dreams of him, the menacing
voice.  In the morning,
she puts on scrubs, waits for
room assignments.

© Kenneth Pobo, 2010

© Corisa Moreno, 2010

A mountain of sodium in my arteries.

Winter nights. A hot soup for my stomach. It is not as romantic as burning Vanilla flavored tea lights and imagining I am dining with Megan Fox in the bathtub but I never felt like this since my best friend Mark touches my cum on the back of Mary Joe’s ear. It is exhilarating.

The betrayal is.

I first fact-check the label that beef ramen has the lowest sodium content among instant noodles, I believe. I am cheap to believe.

To think that I can get away with an embolus because I am eating a poor man’s meal does not make me austere.

It is addicting and moderation is a foreign ingredient.

Did you also know that I sometimes pass myself as a student (they never card me) so I can get in with a museum discount?

Is it like that with lying?

To sell yourself short so you will gratify the sparing animal inside you.

Please advise.

About to combust,
Jay

© Jay Coral, 2010

He then looks to the sky
without adjusting his eyes
and sees silhouettes of men
where only the moon hangs.

His dog observes too
and finds his master to be funny
and while he howls,

the man unfolds a list
heavy with names and recites
them to give credit
where credit is due.

This takes the whole night.

Meanwhile,
the dog has moved onto
newer discoveries, sniffing a tree
and thinking of it
as he remembers the moon.

© Peter Macaluso, 2010

and i buried my face in her shoulder as if her
cold hair against my damp cheek would dry the
tears,

because i didn’t want the world to see me cry,
and i thought that if she could feel my chest
pounding against her own, then i could finally
make every one of my heartbeats really count
for something.

and i know, i should have taken things more
seriously; that i should have treated everything
with care,

the way little boys triple knot their shoes and
fold their hands by the sides of their beds to
pray to their grandfathers before the big game,

i should have.

but, life has a funny way of sneaking up on you
when you’re not looking and pushing you down the
stairs,

and while i was tumbling, head over heels, i didn’t
have enough time to ask myself if this was what
it felt like to fall in love,

if this was that “ready, steady, go” and throw
caution to the wind sort of moment that i’ve been
waiting for, and needed more than anything else
in the world, like a glass of flat ginger ale on
my death bed,

or if my flailing would disrupt the jet stream
and start a hurricane in the middle of the atlantic
ocean, sinking ships and chasing fish away from
the surface.

i should have seen this coming,

and i should have known better than to run,
because sometimes, growing up is scraped knees.

© Andrew Chmielowiec, 2010

[others]