Adair County on a Dare by James D’Agostino
I don’t know where the sky scored all this baby aspirin but I bet somewhere right now fever spikes in an angel. Problem isn’t the sky’s falling it’s how you plan to get your muddy footprints off it. One day dawn does quick pink bear trap trip and snap, and there’s your creation myth. Another goes blackberry blow torch sealing sky to horizon so it’s the same old dome we’ll die in, fireflies in a fruit jar still labeled preserves, still turning purple. Light September morning late. Already I have watched a leaf’s long fall from no tree near. Like a kiss in which gum switches mouths, apple trees in the orchard try on each other’s shadow. Squat quatrain clouds graze the terrain from the west, read left to right, as I’m facing home. Your right. My home.
one week in haiku (tonally inconsistent) by jessica tiller sunday - our father that steeple looks like it might be compensating for something. amen monday - the intellectual i like short poems more than long ones, which sometimes make me feel sleepy tuesday - first world when the earth caves in, blame it on the neighbors. we don’t walk soft like you wednesday - introduction to astronomy apparently stars are also allowed to die, which only seems fair thursday - i’m not staring your head bobbing to the music in your headphones feels to me like, wow friday - automuse, or sad motherfucker that boy wrote love songs. they were about no body in particular saturday - a haiku written on a hike is called a hike-u the grid is not the reason you hate yourself. but unplug anyway