Shortcut
by Daniel Porder

The man crouched
by an orange bush,
sucking smoke.
I approached
and he flicked faces
through his fingers.
I demanded a cigarette
but received the moon.

                                

 

 

 

Diagram of Morning
by Daniel Porder

My lips snap in time
to the television.
I drink a molded rainbow.
The birds zoom by like jets
and the clouds laze.
I fidget like a flower.
I flip wordlessly
like a book of spaces.
Enough with it already.
I’m a cardboard moon. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

swimming with unicorns
by Justin Hyde

the kenyans will win marathons
the yellow lines in parking lots will be repainted
the bright eyed infantry will
take night classes to get their mbas
and become six sigma black belts
limbs will be severed in industrial accidents
foster children will be
raped in rooms full of potpourri and stuffed animals
pelicans will drown in oil spills
midgets will commit suicide amidst confetti
but the shelves will always be stocked with marshmallows
and chances are
you will float through this life
untested
like a pink moon.

 

 

 

 

See-Through as a Cirrus Cloud
by Daniel Porder

I want to interrogate the sun
and find myself beneath the bed.

One day I’ll sneak into reality.
One day I’ll break into my brain. 
I want to understand this life
like the bottom of the ocean. 
I’ll invent a private time zone.
I’ll win a prize for exhaustion. 
One day I’ll waste every day
blinking to a heartbeat. 
I’m still hiding in the moon.