By Mary Kaczowka

Thirty–year–old me
wanted my son
to manifest as a doctor
a lawyer, someone focused
accomplished
atmospherical even.

Forty–year–old me
merely wanted a child
graduated
from high school
able to care for himself
able to feed himself
to drive a car
legally
Pay his bills
not overdraw his account
and stay employed
longer than his usual
four days at a time.

Now, as my child
enters his own thirties
I’d settle for the fact
that he’s a good person
Someone who puts a roof
over his own child’s head
without me
standing and pointing
do this or that
Without me having
to will him to stand
on his own two feet.

Here–for–where–art–thou:
I have totally willed away
any thoughts of him filling
his mother’s shoes.

By Michael Basinski

At lunch my friend Larry said,
He had a dream
of a girl
With a mile long tit
It comes at me,
He spread his arms wide
Over shoulder
Boulder holder
Release the kraken!
Big as a whale
A melon bus
It comes at me
He
Screamed
I’m defenseless.
A cripple
In front of the oncoming
Nipple
Crushed by a moon
Pinned to my
Night bed
He
Screamed
In the soft moth light
Mouth open to feed
My wanton
Need.

By Michael Basinski

I think I thought
My thoughts
Would be
Enough for me,
For you forever
Just enough forever
Do not forget,
Forgotten I would,
Had been, have
Been your King Tut,
Gluten
I would have been
Your slut

By Michael Basinski

Everyone called her 3 Fingers Sue
Question was, what the fuck happened to those other fingers?
I heard it this way:
She was givin Lumpy a hand job.
He was like big and strong.
Like a football player type
Stupid and big like the gym teachers loved him
And he was real afraid of his mother
So he heard her coming in the door, the mother
And he got so fucking scarred
That he grabbed up his zipper
And opps went the fingers
Flapping around the floor
Like a couple of Jimmy Dean
Pork sausages