Defenestration

“Stooges,” by Tina Posner

I can’t remember my dreams

but they leave me bathed in sweat.

Maybe the problem is 

I still haven’t figured out how

my family was replaced by three

goldfish, named after the Stooges.

The fourth, who arrived DOA,
was Shemp, and he appears to be
unmourned.

“More Human Than Human,” by Anna Zoria

Sometimes I ask myself if it meant anything at all—me, you, the roast chicken, those two years together that now feel murky and placed under thick fog. You driving to work after one hour of sleep, week after week after week. You going crazy from no sleep, from too much me, from us taking each other’s brain hostage. You and me staying up drinking scotch, playing chess, smoking pack after pack, listening to Kid A, taking baths on E. Me taking up the whole bed every night, me waking up laughing, me screaming in my sleep. Us sleeping through every Saturday. Your love for dates and numbers.

“The Importance of Being Careful,” by Joseph Buehler

While Tolstoy wrote outdoors,
his goat
would eye him suspiciously,
making sure he wrote nothing
that was anti-goat,

“Heyoka,” by Peter Cole Friedman

Each joke
is a crack
of thunder,
a rupture
in the sky’s
grammar.

“Indexers in Love,” by Mary Cresswell

hail, fellow well met, 1
handful, protagonist seen as quite a, 2
happiness as goal, 46
hazards, 56, 75, 113
headstrong, 2
heart: broken, 56; in mouth, 24–28; murmur, 123; of darkness, 307. See also lungs, liver, lights

“Xujaa, Guerrera, T’Qnna,” by Autumn Hayes

I want an X in my name
or a Q with no U, followed by Z
or maybe K

Not a snaggle-toothed-stepsister name, though,
simply smiling, six warts on its nose
a chipped, rusty ax behind its back

“Appendicitis,” by Mason Johnson

We walk down the street
hand in hand
on our mediocre date
when you explain that
not one, not two, but three!
of your friends have recently had appendicitis,
their organ bursting inside of them.

“Riddled,” by Marit Ericson

Jan and I went to a masque as each other.
We swapped interiorities, bandied psyches
about. Hell has indeed frozen over: I’m nice
for once, said Jan-as-me. I grinned, Janly.

“Huck Elvis,” by John S. Fields

Huck—Huck Elvis, I’s reck’n you jis tip the raf o’ve wit dat shak’n.
Hang it all, Jim.

Two Poems by Kyle Hemmings

I would never compare
you to a cookie
falling from the sky
a pure Oreo
or a virgin Lorna Doone,
unbitten, only flaky at the edges,
me, running to catch you
before you crumble.