the sieve and the sand

Leaving the wheat with the chaff. This is not your mother’s poetry.

this desk is lying to me (you are not you, you are a she)

by David X. Hugo

i think my desk is secretly on fire
and it doesn’t want to tell me because
it knows i don’t want to know
whether or not it burns when she slips
into my mind

maybe my desk is secretly on fire because
i secretly am setting it on fire
with the heat of my fists on it’s
fake woodgrain exterior

or it’s on fire because i just
lit it on fire and am blocking out
the memories because i’m losing
my mind, and
it’s keeping that secret from me too

either way, this desk is lying to me.

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Why I sometimes feel like a babysitter

by Julio Chapluzki

I’m off into the fray
to confront all of the
little monsters who
if they had lived in
my grandfather’s day
would have been grown
up, out, in, and to the side
by now (as he assures me he was)
but alas are not.