Click on each poem to continue to the next.

This issue features 6 pages.



Everyone ziggurats tom-stomachly
and can't listen, totem them. The borscht-
smattered sit-me-downs. No one puts up 
with the dropsy where nephew drops 

the remote and then drops the remote. 
Into this the preterformian, its Brailled 
protein defrayed. The peach spoon, 

the moneylender. The secret is the vestigial, 
whipped trapdoor which lids a negative food-
stuff, insinuated by iced carpet, gainsaid, insuline.