John Lowther

We are the robots.
We don’t need no stinking badges.
We sacrificed the sex.
When we moved here we had to have a new plug put onto the dryer.
And we mean everything.
Nevertheless, we can see the beginning of an era of enlightenment for slime molds.
To those about to rock, we salute you.
We gotta talk up big boy.
We will all be dead in minutes.
We are never so defenseless against suffering as when we love.
We can’t be sure of anything.
If we had some ham, we could have ham and eggs for breakfast, if we had some eggs.
We are done with words.

Raymond Farr

Shooting at Life from a Passing Car

              It’s all over
But the slashing of tires

The vacant chuckle
Of shivering December blackout nights

Echoing its own self interest
The hisses are funny

On a day folding laundry
Coming the way they do from you folks

Sleeping in the peanut gallery
Iron wheels on the move

Over green land
We are too much of a tree moving at night

Other things bang against themselves
In order to make music

To make water a sound
You must hum the pink object