by Effron

Order - by Effron


Sequences
tightly wound round
arcing out
losing ground
charged with gold
guilty found
florets angry
bursting soundless
pollen chaos
shoved and tumbling
sidewalk bound
homeless landing
face down.

by Manny & Patricia

Porsche - by Manny & Patricia


"She was hot once."

"She?"
He invited me here
to talk about another girl?

"The 914. The car."

Hot in the sun, maybe.

Hot like you are now.

Pale teal and lime green -
who knew they'd paint the inside
like that,
where no one can see it?

She's leaning in.
Inspecting the engine compartment.
She's really interested!

And the shadows waving over
the curves inside,
hash marks on the cords.
Ropes?
Cords.

"You know about electrical stuff?"

What is he talking about?
"Electrical?"

"The wiring."
She's wrinkling her freckles.
Love that.

"Cool shadow pattern."
I move my hands,
sprinkling lights-and-darks.

Damn.
What is she talking about?

He's running his work-rough fingers
through his dark hair again.

Hot out here in the driveway.

A halo around him,
the sun at his back.

Wrinkling her freckles at me.
Makes me wanna
take her face
in my hands.

I wonder what those hands
feel like.
On me.

by Patrick

I Madonari - by Patrick


Well I'm not sure
what it is
I'm supposed to see.

A woman dead?
Posturing Native American?

I don't get this kind of art
much.
Huge colors
people stuck in poses
black furry background
like those velvet paintings in Grandda's garage

But it's not a painting.
It's chalk on pavement.

A festival of
hundreds of chalk drawings-

and I don't get why you spend
three days on a masterpiece
and let the fog come in and dull the edges
let cars park in the parking lot again
let dogs walk their people over it,
smearing all your work,

the sharp clouds holding the sky,
her smooth skin,
fabric folds,
one-by-one blades of grass,

and then it's gone

and you have to do it again next year
for the show.

Now that I'm really looking,
amazing.

But I still
don't get
that it's not
permanent art.

Or is that the point?

by Vera

BBQ - by Vera


"Of course you're invited," he said
yesterday.

But Lon is chinking bottles round the grill
with Da Boys,
his back to me,
that wide-stance arms-folded rocking posture
guys all do together.

Oh, he gestured with his elbow
to the cooler of beers,
before sweeping gracefully
back again to the posse.

Hospitality at its shortest.

And sitting alone,
I find to my horror
I'm picking up pebbles and tossing them -
the ultimate in
"I'm Friendless" entertainment.

Time to take off,
before I flounder in the webbing
of his low-slung chair.

Stretching,
I fling one last rock
toward Lon's feet
and saunter away back down-trail,
whistling.

by Carly

Jesusita Oranges - by Carly

They look like vivant orbs from space
resting on crushed cinders
of apocalypse,
these oranges in the ashes.

I wasn't here when it came this time
but oh lived through fire before,
snapping heated teeth,
flamedevil swirls seventy feet tall,
antithesis of thirst driving the gallop across gates and
swingsets and eucalyptus and
whole homes
to alight
here
here
and here,
leaving a green tree there
and there a wooden house unscathed by anything but
tender swirls of trailing smoke,
then back to torch the shed beside it -
or the house next door.

Brittany's house next door.

My house stands.
Brittany's is this -
chimney alone in a rectangle of saltandpepper crunch,
metallic winds and the strange scent of something sweet.

And I cry and curse the oranges
safe in their cheery skins,
aliens of the ashes.

by Kate

Volleyball Photo - by Kate

High five
in black and white,
captures historical,
(recently allegorical)
teammates.

by Anke

Launch Day - by Anke

Look at all these people
she knows.
All here for her
and maybe for me.

She's overwhelmed
I can tell,
and I think I'm overwhelmed too
because
I want to hide
or cheer and jump up and down
or throw up
but mostly
I'm grinning
from my spot at the top of the stairs.

We did it.
We are not furniture.