by Henry Rappaport

1.
The man with no legs
looks at a map
of the night,
looks and wonders
where he can go.

He closes his eyes
and looks at a map
he cannot see
in a chair without wheels.

He thinks his nowhere
is everywhere.
He wonders what
he can love.

2.
The man with one arm
draws a map
for the man with one eye.
The man with one ear overhears.
The man with one leg
stands in front of the club
where the man with one mouth,
one nose, one tongue
waits for them.

He toasts their good health
and sups them well.

by Larry Dyhrberg

There comes a moment
In the life of Cherries,
After the bright red,
After the darkening
And swelling into succulence,
The mouth – filling explosion,
De l’heure des cerises,
When the unseen bruise
Cracks the sweet skin
And traces of mold
Whisper   fickle   truth.

by Lynn Levin

Loving the hard – to – love,
I sought your human feet.
At the Chinese grocery you lay
in a bin pond – mucked
like dredged – up shoes.
Few shoppers choosing
you for their red baskets.

I washed you, peeled off
your brown socks
cut through the nowhere tunnels
of your nowhere escape routes.
Cut more.  Found more nothing.
Your slices — all those holes —
covered the butcher block
like CAT scans of forgetfulness.

On the tongue, not much to brag about —
you tasted like jicama, raw potato.
But braised with sugar
and rice wine vinegar
you turned softer, more picklish.
No longer your old self
I liked you better.

by Erica Goss

What desires us most
enters through the mouth:
consider breath, with its
vital repetitions; and if

the esophagus is the top
of a volcano that explains
the ash clinging like
spittle to my lips — but

what of blood in the throat
the bitten tongue — how
the skull erupts
from flesh in neat rows

as if to say, don’t forget
I’m in here, I define
what it means
to be human.