Fantasy Island Redux: “De pipeline, boss, de pipeline!”

by Maureen Kingston  

a hot load, a hot shot
through the weakest vein

the great plains

where seldom is heard
a discouraging word        

where dissent is drowned out
by the global cash machine

he maketh me to lie down
in green pastures

the pipeline’s well-designed,
the engineers assure

a mighty fortress is our god,
a bulwark never failing

the promise of jobs & safety,
a universal hope or a uniscam?

The Good Life, Nebraska’s motto,

her citizens gracious to the end,
pouring pitcher after pitcher of tar sands

Subject Line Poem

by Anon Ymous

I’m a ghost; here, but never was. I’m a wisp of wind, a memory.

When The Gun Goes Off It Always Surprises You

by Anastasia Placido

Enamored
Not like jade enamel:
Glazed and polished
Amore, love
Lots more than shine
And charmed
Like a snake in a basket
Weaving
Woozy
Spellbound
Cast over like a darkened sky
And awash in air
Insulated, head to chest
A murmuring of the heart
Crack the ribcage
Open up the breast
And let the light beam echo
Unarmored

Why Daniel Gave Up Painting And Took Up The Blues

by Joe Farley

When the dandelion wine,
farm fermented, ran out
you turned to whiskey,
and married yourself to a bottle,
adapted the drinking man's diet
and shed forty pounds
and with it all thoughts
of the lover who left you
for a woman and not a man.

You still saw her naked
when another model posed
for your brushes to dance
colors across a canvas.
The shapes came out
broken and tormented,
so you left the studio
and bought a slide guitar
and learned to paint music,
with blue the only pigment
left on your palette.