Desire between my legs –
A cello
Or is it?

A stick in my hand –
A bow
Or is it?

Two roads diverged, at least I mean
I think I had two options on that day
but honestly, I really can’t remember, having seen
so many veer a bit north, but lean
just enough to go another way;

The new iPhone fits into a pocket, and within it fits the sum total
of your personal information, plus an immeasurably large portion
of human knowledge including many of the observations gleaned
through the sense-expanding machines of our ingenuity. Plus you
can use the mic and camera to add to the burgeoning data terrain.

The pharmacist is in love,
Sculpting pills into heart shapes,
Her tongue all homeopathic honey
As she names each of the sick in line,
All of their medicine mislabeled, the dosage
Written in poetry: “Take it all in
Slowly,” “Apply until your eyes
See what has always been there.”

Just by the way the envelope felt in his hand, Lawrence Breton knew what it contained.

“Another rejection letter, of course,” he said, tossing it unopened into the fire. This was not the fireplace with the white brick, the medieval logs, the eloquent wrought-iron grate, and the Kodiak rug: that was the one he thought he’d have by now. It wasn’t that he couldn’t afford it, but that he only wanted to buy it with book royalties. Lawrence Breton was arriving at the opinion that all publishers were soulless reptiles whose categorical genocide of science fiction writers was the greatest literary misunderstanding of the century.