And landed in Sri Lanka none the worse for wear
I'm thinking of retiring from all my dirty deals
I'll see you in the next life, wake me up for meals
Michael Phelan, The Best Way Out Is Through (No. 6), 2006
-- by Michael Dennis Browne
Today I explained telepathy to you,
and telephone, and television,
on the way to day care,
and I said, sometimes when I'm at work
I'll think of you,
and if I could send you that thought with my mind,
you'd get it right then,
and maybe you'd smile, stopping a moment at whatever
you were doing, or maybe not
but just going on with it, making a mask out of paper plates
and orange and green cards
with markers and scissors and paste,
or screaming circles in the gym
either being a monster
or being chased by a gang of them, but still you'd get
the picture I was beaming
and you'd brighten inside and flash me something back,
which I'd get, where I was, and smile at.
That's telepathy, I said
pulling into the parking lot,
looking at you in the mirror.
The Gravity of Demise
-- by George Young
can be swift
as a phone book sliding off
the table and crashing to the floor
as a brown, curled leaf
to land in a still pond—
(that leaf shaped like a man,
don’t call that number anymore).
-- by Chuck Augello
We are both vegetarians
but that never stops us
from eating each other's heart.
Hers is served in a light vodka creme sauce,
mine arrives without garnish.
We have dined on each other so many times,
it is a quick and joyless meal.
Where once we tenderized and basted
we now eat it raw,
with little conversation,
not even a "pass the salt."
We reach across the table in silence
grabbing whatever we need
as if the other has already gone.
I am tired of this bloody meal,
but I keep eating as long as she does.
The day we said, "I do,"
we never dreamt we'd be such carnivores.