Grumpy Chrome Taco

In the early days
Our happy guardians slid
Butt first into greased tubes
Thenceforth onto sandy mattresses where
Cold hands awaited offering
Cold rubdowns to hot butts

Those were the early days
Before we figured out how to orient ourselves
In our contemporary media-rich landscape
A fog of cognitive violence
And martyred parents

Another Barrel of Potash

Onward to the perfect international territory
unpretentious and arbitrary
where the expensive canyons await

We book a tour
On the tour we'll see the low-rent locals
putting on clothes
double-crossing one another
conversing with an easy, banter-rich rapport
It feels like they are torturing us with their charisma

We will remind each other of why we've come
but people must have said it wrong:
the horse isn't here
OH NO!!!!

A sociopath is both a non-presence and amusingly earnest

Green John Chaw

nice family action makes the moment coherent
especially since the old obese logic is functional and better
but there’s also a weird man flying around
in front of the game
his boundless decay
exposed
comforting

Formally I Submit This Flat Thing

There is no way to solve the person
who knows the fragility of your aging cartilage
and the whisper gray shards of your eyes
and speaks one heavy phrase
after another

There is no memory kind enough
to recall these incantations
and to give them to a suspicious child
in shoes abraded by loose pavement

There is no space silent enough
to give purchase to these spit wet words
to allow their bonds to cure
and find the safety of meaning

Calendar of Happiness

The people in my family are the physical ghosts
united by our particular sense of industry
and a brutal kindness hidden in our throats

We heap the memory meat into great quivering mountains
We have never written memoirs
or held particular views

We are the ultimate blank slate
adhering to this sentimental
pride in the retreat

We are prototypes who long for the dry winter
who bring hopeless words to the city congregations
who await glass rain
hot cutting us down
in our new leather shoes

Lorenzo

Dad is a troublemaker. Mom is an infuriatingly humble web geek. Gramma P is an alcohol guru. Gramma F is a typical tv nerd. Grampa P is a writer. Grampa F is a hipster-friendly food fan. Sister is a communicator.

We obtain the pooch and name the pooch Dramble. A rotund fellow in the distribution racket who visits Gramma P says that the pooch has the haunches of a draught horse. Mom insinuates that she may create a special blog for the pooch and a humorous Twitter persona to boot. Dad ties a chain of uninflated balloons to the pooch's tail.

Grampa P composes a sonnet about the pooch and the recreational activities we engage in. Gramma F compares the pooch favorably to the one on Frasier. Grampa F makes the pooch organic root vegetable infused turkey chorizo. Sister weeps.

Anon Polygraph

My problem started nine months back when a faithful spiritual spell caster built my home. He was having some dumbfounded matrimonial work and that was all. I really was confused by the father of my internet kids in my life. The spell caster started having problem with a strange family intercession.

I want to know a problem and my kids are quitting and my husband never believed his living situation. After I started putting my five friends through hell it dawn on me on that I needed my good things. I never trusted our home. A spell caster is telling me all of it to no avail.