THE SECRET LIFE OF MACHINES #1
by Frank Possemato
A machine is not a living thing
The evening is black with the sound of unseen frogs
hiding from those who trust their eyes
to know is to kill
but to be silent is worse
What moves them to croak
somewhere in the smallness between brain and stomach and throat?
The individual doesn't matter
The species is nothing too
or why else would I run
A lurch, a splash, a miss
A frog in my hand
as silent as Christ before Herod
FLYING IN by Brent Wiggans
by Shawn Pittard
Seagulls gather on the power line.
Along the river's edge, they scavenge
the living and the deadsalmon
come inland from the sea.
One worn salmon's strength
is equal only to the current.
It makes no headway. Swims in place
as a gull tears red flesh from its spine.
My nephew palms a smooth stone
inside his soft fist, asks,
Should I throw it at the bird?
I say, That's for you to decide.
by Simon Perchik
These petals taking command, the flower
pinned down and the work stops
your breath dragged back
where it's safe and in your lungs
hides the way each sky is named
after the word for stone
for this small grave each Spring
the dirt adds to till suddenly
you are full height, your lips
defending you against the cold
waiting it out in your mouth
they too want you to talk
to call them by name
say what they sound like
turning away, alone, alone and alone.