Feeding the Worms by Danusha Laméris

Ever since I found out that earth worms have taste buds
all over the delicate pink strings of their bodies,
I pause dropping apple peels into the compost bin, imagine
the dark, writhing ecstasy, the sweetness of apples
permeating their pores. I offer beets and parsley,
avocado, and melon, the feathery tops of carrots.

I’d always thought theirs a menial life, eyeless and hidden,
almost vulgar—though now, it seems, they bear a pleasure
so sublime, so decadent, I want to contribute however I can,
forgetting, a moment, my place on the menu.

Autobiography – Michael Dumanis

Attempted avoiding abysses, assorted

abrasions and apertures, abscesses.

At adolescence, acted absurd: acid,

amphetamines. Amorously aching

after an arguably arbitrary Abigail,

authored an awful aubade.

Am always arabesquing after Abigails.

Am always afraid: an affliction?

Animals augur an avalanche. Animals

apprehend abattoirs. Am, as an animal,

anxious. Appendages always aflutter,

am an amazing accident: alive.

Attired as an apprentice aerialist,

addressed acrophobic audiences.

Aspiring, as an adult, after applause,

attracted an angelic acolyte.

After an affirming affair, an abortion.

After an asinine affair, Avowed Agnostic

approached, alone, an abbey’s altarpiece,

asking Alleged Almighty about afterlife.

Ambled, adagio, around an arena.

Admired an ancient aqueduct. Ate aspic.

Adored and ate assorted animals.

Ascended an alp. Affected an accent.

Acquired an accountant, an abacus, assets.

Attempted atonal arpeggios.

Fight Song – Deborah Garrison

Sometimes you have to say it:
Fuck them all.

Yes fuck them all-
the artsy posers,
the office blowhards
and brown-nosers;

Fuck the type who gets the job done
and the type who stands on principle;
the down to earth and the understated;

Project director?
Get a bullshit detector.

Client’s mum?
Up your bum.

You can’t be nice to everyone.

When your back is to the wall
When they don’t return your call
When you’re sick of saving face
When you’re screwed in any case

Fuck culture scanners, contest winners,
subtle thinkers and the hacks who offend them,
people who give catered dinners
and (saddest of sinners) the sheep who attend them-

which is to say fuck yourself
and the person you were: polite and mature,
a trooper for good. The beauty is
they’ll soon forget

And if they don’t
they probably should.

you extend a hand – Signe Gjessing

you extend a hand 
tentatively,
like water-resistant light

I wonder, quietly,
if it will hold us both
if, for example, we had to 
escape by sea

What Happens – Erich Fried

It has happened

and it happens now as before

and will continue to happen

if nothing is done against it.

The innocent don’t know a thing about it

because they are too innocent

and the guilty don’t know a thing about it

because they’re too guilty.

The poor don’t take notice

because they’re too poor

and the rich don’t take notice

because they’re too rich.

The stupid shrug their shoulders

because they’re too stupid

and the clever shrug their shoulders

because they’re too clever.

It doesn’t bother the young

because they’re too young

and it doesn’t both the old

because they’re too old.

That’s why nothing is done against it

and that’s why it happened

and happens now as before

and will continue to happen.

Bleeker Street – Robert Dimler

Have

you ev-

er needed

a pair of dimes

to place a call at

night? At 2 a.m.,

on Bleeker Street,

beneath a

broken

light?

Regardless, a Bat Mitzvah’d Woman Cannot Make Minion – Carlie Hoffman

What these girls did I could not: black tights

in June, knowing which spoon for goat's milk,

which for slow-cooked stew, pray from right

to left. Grace: the way they prayed

in long sleeves in sunlight, hair

like wet grass, clean palms warm and pale

as bread. I know now what I meant to ask:

Can I touch your hand, though what I did

was bite. There must be a word for the lack

of words for the things we have felt all

our lives, but couldn't name, a name

for the hymn that moves our blood,

old and dire, like the rain

that once shined each green blade

of that town, not each girl, but the grass

that blooms and blooms and blooms.