by Anselm Hollo

Yes my dear that may well be true
but I do wish
this pleasant early June evening breeze
would evaporate
all the terrible servants of Mammon
masquerading as servants of the “American People” —
in a kind of reverse “rapture,” i.e.,

tomorrow morning they just wouldn’t BE here anymore

Ah it is late
in the game dear hearts
dear hearts it is late in the game

and how will the untold be told ?

will the bugs remember ?

or in a dog’s or cat’s brain a small flicker
that there were these “humans” once

no no says the Doge of Dogs
no no says the Caesar of Cats

no to quote your great singer Tom Lehrer
“we’ll all go together when we go”

by Anselm Hollo

So aren’t we all
the trembling fawn
or baby rat

entering
re – entering
this terrifying place

so place is it
but time is it too

deceptive results
of efforts to extend
what we believe are our senses

the Pika
can only live
above 6,000 feet

it does not know
any better place

N.B.  The American Pika has a small, round body, peppery brown fur, large round ears and no visible tail.  It is between six and eight inches long and weighs about six ounces.

by Tom Pickard

Fuck the sonnet, I piss upon it
And those who seek to launch
A sinking reputation on it
As though it were some talismanic ‘denture,
An entrée to a toothless craft.

Take those billiards balls out your pocket,
To reach the moon you need a rocket.

by Tom Pickard

the house empty
a gust of sun
and some bird thinks it spring

I’ve just seen her on a vid
the river in flood
in a mis – aligned season

what of the flood ?
can you canoe it ?

altho we bicker
above the beck
we burn in bed

her breath expects
wind and river rip