by Andy Hacanis

I have already ended the Universe
more than my share of times.
It’s a weakness, that power,
and one that never lasts long

before the Universe is back again
by popular demand.
But we don’t even know
what an electron is,

never mind The Universe.
Then the unencumbered invent the idea
of an infinite number of universes.
Operators are standing by.

by Claire Scott

they treat me well in here
plenty of pills for la la land
an alphabetic panoply
like the horn of plenty
on our holiday table
Ability, Effexor, Geodon,
Risperdal, Zyprexa
mix and match
whatever
forever
pills flushed

do you remember
the Thanksgiving dinner
when I bone–wished
to be a sea gull
a starling, a nightingale
soaring naked

do you remember
when I leapt
from the rooftop
wearing Icarus wings
nose–diving down
sabotaged by spies

what of years
of white gowns
no belt, no laces
only the sharp click
of heels and metal locks
they drill holes in my head

I am rising
on waxless wings
perhaps a sparrow

a smudge in the sky
a slight tickle
in your throat
look up

by Clair Scott

Memories illegible
whitewashed and weather–
bleached by time’s relentless tick

My caregiver Talia or Trisha or Trixie
says we need you to be clean
as she scrubs between my low slung breasts

Lying like parched fruits across my stomach
and I inhale the intimate agony
of her flowery perfume

My neurons are plotting against me
staging a mutiny after eighty years
synapses short circuiting, misfiring

They used to be on my side
synchronized like a marching band
lined up like migrating swallows

But now Tyler or Tracy or Trina
says it is time for our supper
as she tucks a napkin under my chin

To catch our spills she says
no interest in her watery soup or tasteless stews
but Tessa or Tara is my only friend

Unless you count the figure waiting in the wings
wearing a sable suit and a sinister smile
knowing his turn is coming next

So we break open a bottle of our best wine
while we watch swallows flying low
and listen to the wobbly notes of a fading band

by Dion O’Reilly

The unloved daughter of a killer
goes outside
looking to be hurt,

which is cruel to say. No one —
not even a killer’s daughter —
loves to suffer. Which is why

she says she can’t love
her mother anymore. How could she
love a killer?

But one day, she sleeps with a killer.
For the rest of her life,
she says I loved that man.

But her mother’s the killer
she never stopped loving.

It’s simple. Simple as a ghost.