Each joke
is a crack
of thunder,
a rupture
in the sky’s
grammar.
Punch lines
Spider across,
fissuring,  logic.
Here’s the trick:
The surface
is so thin tha  t
bit  s   of   outer-
space    leak    i       n,
until              there                      is
a        silence
s o                          t ir el ess
y o u             c a n             b rea  k                  i   t
w i t    h              a n         y t      h i n g                 &
s         t     i  l  l          m         a  k      e          s   e              n  s         e

Potato.

————

Peter Cole Friedman recently graduated from Hunter College in NYC, with a degree in Religious Studies but a keen interest in everything. He is thin but healthy. He strums a guitar and writes songs. He makes vast batches of soup. For money, he takes pictures of people’s eyeballs in a medical office. The entire literary magazine circuit, save Nibble, Writers’ Bloc, and Right Hand Pointing, has prudently steered clear of his work. Check out his blog of illustrated witticisms at www.theidiotsage.wordpress.com