By: James Parker

“Until I can get up into this trance,/all is randomness, all mischance.”

By: Douglas Wolk

Sore and bobbing, here’s my jeremiad…

By: James Parker

“Should I lay down my war axe / and sit in the shit / and rotate beautiful colors in my bluebottle thorax?”

By: James Parker

“Out to sea, out to sea,/where the albatross ungainly dives/and the cunning anchovy thrives!”

By: James Parker

Lemminkainen, ice-locked,/hearing the groan of his trapped ship,/works up a counter-charm.

By: Franklin Bruno

In any job that must be fun there is an element of dun.

By: Franklin Bruno

Mezzotint badonkadonk, rolling a cocktail cherry in Motrin, crushed up coke-fine.

By: James Parker

“The churned sheets were a vortex/and there could be no more sex/because of the pain in my cortex.”

By: Franklin Bruno

Don’t fire until you can see your reflection in the robot’s crotchplate.

By: Franklin Bruno

The frenemy of my frenemy is my frenemy.

By: Franklin Bruno

Earning your advanced degree in snackroeconomics.

By: Franklin Bruno

The part I love: “I hate this part.”

By: Franklin Bruno

Wears bowling shirt, has never bowled. Streaks in the aging filmmaker’s hair.

By: Franklin Bruno

Spin of the frictionless cardstock chore wheel

By: Franklin Bruno

Work-shirted poli-sci prof hosts three-hour bluegrass podcast.