_ Art by Matthew Sawhill

THE RICH ISSUE

BE ABOUT IT # 8
edited/designed by Alexandra Naughton
cover art by Jeff Von Ward

Rich
Get your dick wet, if
you're rich. Dip it
in clear streams, streak
with it damp streaks
across first-class airplane curtains or silk
sheets. Sign scripts,
lists, cross off exes
or sixes or crosses
wherever needed if,
being rich, the tip of
your rich dick is dipped in ink. If you
weren't rich (if your
dick isn't rich), you
wouldn't even think
to slip, with slick intent,
with ill will, a mickey
into this pink gin and
sip, slipping into sleep,
dreaming of things yet
unseen: spiral cities,
sleeping djinn in crystals,
banana splits crowned
with gilt milk, spilling in
foil torrents onto pigs
split by spits, twisting
in rich pink fire which
spreads across the
silk and ignites your
slippers, your soul
patch, your dick, and
you immolate, twisting,
rich beyond thinking.
_ Michael OHara

Collarless
Rich people live in fortresses and the class struggle lives in
them.
They let it spit from their hands when they ride their ostriches,
use my language.

Richness corrupts and absolute richness corrupts the tongue.

Everything written is written by a rich person in the shell of
a hideous manifold generator of loot and smell.

Poor people live in apartments and the class struggle lives in

them.
They let it spit from their lips when they write their memoirs,
tiny slips
they hide under tires or between the seats of mass transit.
They are shipped
from fortress to fortress in sliding green everywhere, invisible to
their princes.

Theft lives in sandy pockets and the class struggle lives there
too, winding
collarless dogs through trick hoops, showing what it can do.

Is the corruption inescapable even as it is tacked against us?

_ Michael OHara

The Best Happiness That Money Can Buy

after Ace Enders

I can make a mess

like nobodys business:
these are the things
that matter now.
I am a song title
checking inside egg cartons.
Follow that tune while
I try not to think about
a sack of collected memories.
Its winter
and we pretend that
stupid love songs
change the world.
My back tenses when
I remember climbing pine trees
to strip the bark
to scent your room.
_ Tracy Dimond

WHAT COMES AFTER HOPE

Jonathan Franzen age 7, getting a lollipop from his doctor.
Jonathan Franzen age 7, eating swedish meatballs or
something. Jonathan Franzen age 10, re-reading the Narnia
books every month. Jonathan Franzen as a tween afraid of his
first erection. Jonathan Franzen as a tween getting his first pair
of glasses. Jonathan Franzen age 15, popping pimples in a
mirror for 2 hours. Jonathan Franzen age 15, wondering if
anyone will ever want to touch him. Jonathan Franzen age 15,
getting the mail for his mom. Jonathan Franzen age 17,
wondering if he could pull off a peacoat. Jonathan Franzen age
18, encouraging people to call him 'the Franz.' Jonathan Franzen
age 19, losing his virginity and crying. Jonathan Franzen age 20,
meeting michael martone. Jonathan Franzen in his 20's, getting
lost in Munich. Jonathan Franzen in his 20's, aware of his chronic
low-grade depression. Jonathan Franzen age 23, getting married
in rueful sunset. Jonathan Franzen age 25, pretending to have
read Moby-Dick in conversation. Jonathan Franzen age 32, rereading The Great Gatsby for the 6th time. Jonathan Franzen
age 35, buying irish spring soap at cvs. Jonathan Franzen age
40, subsisting almost entirely on sadness. Jonathan Franzen age
40 on 81st and Madison debating smoking a cigarette. Jonathan
Franzen age 51, saying you have to love before you can be
relentless. Jonathan Franzen age 51, getting his glasses stolen
and ransomed for $100,000.
_ Manuel Abreu

Tiffanys
I went in to the Tiffanys on
Union Square with my father.
It was crowded,
Neil Young was the only other

shabby looking motherfucker in the joint.

I was clearly the only one without money to burn.
We went upstairs.
The girl behind the counter
looked at the rings through my ears,
at the heavy ring
hanging from my nose.
You look like youre good on jewelry, she said,
and laughed nervously.
I looked her up and down,
looked her right in the eye.
What can you show me in stainless steel?
_ Joel Landmine
i dont like how when i use an old coca cola bottle as a
new water bottle the water tastes a little bit like coca
cola:
this
summer
win
$5000
instantly
every day
plus hundreds of
instant prizes
every week
register&enter
cokerewards.com.au
detachment and laziness
old friends
never leave
my eyes hurt but im pretty sure ill be ok
doctor says
one white pill with food every morning

to get rid of the compulsive thoughts

to get rid of the compulsive thoughts
to get rid of the compulsive thoughts
_ Anith Mukherjee

RICH.app
The time for consideration was over. He reached for the
concealed pistol under his shirt, swung around and fired point
blank into her head. The resulting damage was impressive.
Of course there was no blood. She was an android. He was fully
aware of that fact when he had called the escort service. But
seeing the chaotic mix of electronics and synthetic tissue that
his gun had created was alarming and unexpected.
He had seen the avaricious look in her eyes as he displayed his
White Diamond Card when, upon her arrival, she had asked for
proof of credit. Very few people shared the virtually unlimited
purchasing power to which the WD Card entitled persons such
as he.

After verifying his credit she began to disrobe, but asked him to
allow her the minor modesty of turning away as she did so. He
was immediately wary of her motives, and sensed that she was
preparing to attack him. He turned away, but reached down for
his weapon. She was lunging with her arms extended towards
him when he fired. There would be no doubt about what
happened when the authorities did their investigation. He was a
very rich person, who had defended himself against the needy,
dishonest whore who wanted to steal his credit card.
When the police arrived, they tethered his wrists. He was
astonished to be arrested for something that was obviously not
his fault nor, in fact, a crime.
The arresting officer had been dispatched by an alarm signal
from an escort service reporting an employee in distress. Her
service medallion had recorded the entire transaction. Upon her
arrival to the client, she had asked for proof of credit. He had
presented her with a PROLE card, the standard government
welfare card that pays for minimums of food and healthcare. It
was not usable for any form of entertainment, including her
escort services. She had immediately pressed the panic
button on her service medallion.

The rest remains unclear. The medallion records the perpetrator

aiming a large caliber pistol at the victims head and,
unprovoked, firing at point-blank. The resulting blood, bone and
brain splatter partially obscure the remaining recording, but it
shows the perpetrator sitting calmly after the event.
As the arresting officer testified: He was outraged when we
arrested him. He was delusional, and believed he was a wealthy
individual who was being victimized by a potential thief. He
somehow decided that the escort was an android, not a human,
and therefor shooting her was not a crime. I just dont get it.
There are plenty of service robots, but theres no such thing as
humanoid androids.
The police report indicates that they examined the perpetrators
smart phone and found that he had downloaded the RICH
application that very morning. The RICH app is a tweaked
version of a popular self-esteem enhancer app that is now
known to produce disturbing side effects. This is the third such
incident that has occurred since the revised version of the
application became widely available for download. The police
report warns that they expect more and worse developments to
unfold as the RICH application takes hold.
_ Joe Calvarese

rich like
rich like a twenty something,
that shops at Urban Outfitters,
and buys Ray Ban glasses even though he has 20/20 vision.
rich like an undergrad,
whose parents pay the bill,
at a liberal arts school,
who is still undeclared three years in.
rich like a hipster,
who only goes to bars that have Pabst on tap,
and smokes $15 a pack Nat Shermans because the packaging
is slim and cool.
rich like a frat bro,
who has tickets on the 50 yard line to every home football
game,
and doesnt care if he throws up on his polo while doing a keg
stand because hes got a dresser full of them.
rich like a tourist,
who looks at a foreign culture as their own personal mall,
buying up artifacts because they think itll be a good
conversation piece at their next cocktail party.
rich like a criminal defense lawyer,
his tailored suit hugging his body,
ready for the camera to catch the shine from his Rolex and cuff
links.
rich like an only child,
who grows up not knowing the word no,
or that theres more to life than his wishes.
rich like a real estate developer,
popping skyscrapers in the city like Legos,
his name stamped on everything just in case you forgot it.
rich like that 7 foot Eastern European basketball player at the
end of the bench,
the one whose last name has more syllables than he has points,
getting paid to sit in the front row and look ready to play.

rich like my white uncle,

who watches CNBC and reads the Wall Street Journal,
to make sure his fortune is safe.
but Im richer than all of them,
with my Newport 100s; the Cadillac of smokes,
and my Salvation Army hand me downs,
and my slow walk because I can afford to live at my own pace.
_ Patrick Trotti

INFRASTRUCTURE IS A WEAPON OF MASS DESTRUCTION

when we talk about deregulation

we mean class warfare
when we talk about class warfare
we mean the class with the means to wage war
when we talk about waging war
we mean an undesirable element
when we talk about an undesirable element
we mean the poor with no prospects
when we talk about the poor with no prospects
we mean people who arent really Americans

when we talk about people who arent really Americans

we mean non-Americans
when we talk about non-Americans
we mean people who dont love America
when we talk about people who dont love America
we mean people who hate America
when we talk about people who hate America
we mean people who have nothing to gain in America
when we talk about people who have nothing to gain in America
we mean people who dont really have a place in America
when we talk about people who dont really have a place in
America
we mean people who dont belong in America
when we talk about people who dont belong in America
we mean people who dont work for themselves in America
when we talk about people who dont work for themselves in
America
we mean an impediment to economic growth in America
when we talk about economic growth in America
we mean the stock market
when we talk about the stock market

we mean the betting pool stash of an ownership society

when we talk about an ownership society
we mean the pink slip holders in the betting pool
when we talk about the betting pool
we mean insurance
when we talk about insurance
we mean security
when we talk about security
we mean arms
when we talk about arms
we mean the ones that hold us
when we talk about the arms that hold us
we mean the arms that constrict you
when we talk about the arms that constrict you
we mean assured profit certainty for us
and when we talk about assured profit certainty for us
we mean deregulation.

_ Paul Corman-Roberts

Fine Dining
Boards stretch to rest on paint buckets whose rims catch a deep
red honey paste that runs down the hardwoods. We walk into
this dining room and don't know where to step. We move like
around tree stumps in a clearing in a purple forest at night.
Red sugar penny puddles gloss over on the concrete. We stand,
you and I, and another:
May I smell your hair, please? This man puts his nose behind
my ear and breathes in. Your perfume is very special. I have a
good nose, and that's pure essence shit, he says.
It is the first perfume I have ever worn, I say. In fact I bought
it one year ago today. I pull your hand closer to my leg, into
the folds of my skirt. I put my hand behind your neck and run it
up into your hair.
We sit down as the feast is rolled out: you at the head, next to
me and this man pushed together at the corner. He stays in the
circle of my perfume and tells us stories: Peyote for months in
the desert, hunting deer, moving west and then further west to
Hawaii.
His eyes get wild here. We are on an island with him, separated
from the rest of the table. Shamelessly, he picked up a lady
there, a cake entrepreneur from Baltimore, visiting to make
somebody special a cake. They fucked so hard that he followed
her back east. He doesn't tell us that she now is his wife, but
laughs and puts his hand on my shoulder, his white button-up
inching up his wrist to show the crosshatch of layered tattoos.
He looks into my eyes: Isn't that a crazy story.
They take away the food and give us a jug of wild herb and
blueberry liqueur. Hazy beginnings, here: the table strewn with
crushed ceramic smurfs and two fat joints. Oh, how our new
friend loves blueberry weed.
Once the smoke is smoked we are given mason jars of smoke.
Everyone's eyes are sparkling now. We are like children, or
aliens, delighting, united, in something new. We all do it
differently, putting our mouths to the mouths of the jars and

breathing in flavored smoke. Some try to drink a little and cap it

off, then returning for more. We think of fireflies in jars, of
drinking tiny lights.
A vase of honeyed tea pours over a window screen into another
vase. The tea splashes onto the screen, swimming across it to
rain on all corners of the table. Most of it flows towards the man
sitting too close beside me. It spills onto him and he puts his
mouth to the table and laps it right up.
Finally, three sponges, frozen and soaked in syrups lay before
us on small plates. Cheap colors, rich taste, new textures
between the teeth: endless space to suck and bite. As they
melt, our fingers become sticky with dripping sugar. Your eyes
are ravenous. With a grinning fervor, you tear the sponges with
your teeth and chew. No one else can chew like that.

_ Kelly Thomas

something happened and we both smiled

i like the smell of vinegar and pulp
sometimes i collect receipts i find
i want to be touching your face one-thousand times
and showing you the paper i keep under my bed
we will wonder why someone bought ten boxes of BAND-AID
Brand Variety Pack (280Count, Assorted Sizes) Bandages
it was expensive to buy that many
i want to fill my head with you
i want to touch your skin

_ Davis Land

LOVE LETTERS TO A WEALTH OF MEMORY/A LOVE LETTER

TO SIBEL KEKILLI'S PRE-OP NOSE
YO U R FA C E I S E E I N P E O P L E T H E Y A R E N E V E R
YO U R A G E N O R D O T H E Y L O O K L I K E YO U B U T
B E F O R E I R E A L I Z E W H O S E FA C E I T I S T H E Y R E M I N D
M E O F I F I G U R E I T M U S T B E YO U R FA C E I S E E I N
PEOPLE.
YO U R FA C E I S E E I N P E O P L E T H E Y A R E N E V E R
YO U R R A C E N O R D O T H E Y L O O K L I K E YO U B U T
B E F O R E I R E A L I Z E W H O S E FA C E I T I S T H E Y R E M I N D
M E O F I F I G U R E F R O M T H I S D I S TA N C E I C A N ' T T E L L
I F YO U ' R E A C H I L D O R A W O M A N .
YO U R FA C E I S E E I N P E O P L E T H E Y A R E N E V E R
YO U R A G E N O R D O T H E Y L O O K L I K E YO U B U T
B E F O R E I R E A L I Z E W H O S E FA C E I T I S T H E Y R E M I N D
M E O F I F I G U R E T H I S M U S T B E W H AT I T F E E L S L I K E
TO RIDE MY BIKE INTO SOMEONE OPENING THEIR
C A R D O O R.
YO U R FA C E I S E E I N P E O P L E T H E Y A R E N E V E R
YO U R R A C E N O R D O T H E Y L O O K L I K E YO U B U T
B E F O R E I R E A L I Z E W H O S E FA C E I T I S T H E Y R E M I N D
M E O F I F I G U R E I P U S H A L O T O F P E O P L E AW AY
H A R D A N D S T I L L S H AT T E R W H E N I T H I N K O F H O W
H A R D YO U F E L L F R O M M Y H A N D S S M A C K E D YO U R
HEAD AGAINST THE CORNER OF THE COFFEE
TA B L E .
YO U R FA C E I S E E I N P E O P L E T H E Y A R E N E V E R
YO U R A G E , R A C E N O R D O T H E Y L O O K L I K E YO U
B U T B E F O R E I R E A L I Z E W H O S E FA C E I T I S T H E Y
REMIND ME OF I FIGURE THIS WILL SCAR WORSE
T H A N A L R E A DY.

YO U R FA C E I S E E I N P E O P L E T H E Y A R E N E V E R
YO U R A G E , R A C E , S E X U A L I D E N T I T Y , C R E E D ,
RELIGION OR L ACK OF RELIGION NOR DO THEY
L O O K L I K E YO U B U T B E F O R E I R E A L I Z E W H O S E
FA C E I T I S T H E Y R E M I N D M E O F I F I G U R E I T M U S T
B E YO U R FA C E I S E E I N P E O P L E .
YO U R FA C E I S E E I N P E O P L E T H E Y A R E N E V E R
YO U R A G E , R A C E , S E X U A L I D E N T I T Y , C R E E D ,
RELIGION OR L ACK OF RELIGION NOR DO THEY
L O O K L I K E YO U B U T B E F O R E I R E A L I Z E W H O S E
FA C E I T I S T H E Y R E M I N D M E O F I F I G U R E YO U ' R E
N E V E R N O T T O O C L O S E I W A I T E D U N T I L YO U W E R E
D O N E C RY I N G O N M Y C O U C H T O A S K YO U A G A I N
F O R T H E N A M E O F T H AT R E A L I T Y T V S TA R I N
F RA N C E B E C A U S E I H AV E T O S E E H E R N A K E D O N
T H E I N T E R N E T B E C A U S E I D O N ' T H AV E
B U T T E R F L I E S F O R YO U N O R D I D I E V E R F O R H E R
E I T H E R A N D T H E S E C O N D I S AW YO U I N T H AT F I L M
I K N E W I T WA S T H E M O S T B E A U T I F U L T H I N G I H A D
E V E R S E E N YO U R N O S E B U T YO U G O T A F U C K I N G
N O S E J O B A N D I T ' S R E A L LY J U S T T O O B A D N O W I
D O N ' T E V E N WA N N A W ATC H G A M E O F T H R O N E S
N O T T H AT I WA S I N T E R E S T E D I N T H AT S H O W
A N Y WAY B U T L U C K I LY J O H N I N F O R M E D M E T H AT
YO U U S E D T O D O A L O T O F P O R N B A C K I N
G E R M A N Y S O N O W I C A N W ATC H YO U R N O S E
E C H O I N G F O R E V E R A C R O S S T H E I N T E R N E T.
YO U R FA C E I S E E I N P E O P L E T H E Y A R E N E V E R
YO U R A G E , R A C E , S E X U A L I D E N T I T Y , C R E E D ,
RELIGION OR L ACK OF RELIGION NOR DO THEY
L O O K L I K E YO U B U T B E F O R E I R E A L I Z E W H O S E
FA C E I T I S T H E Y R E M I N D M E O F I F I G U R E YO U
R E S I D E I N D E P T H S C L O S E E N O U G H T O T O RT U R E
THE INSIDE OF MY EYELIDS.
_ Hanna Owens

The Organ Harvesters Soliloquy: A Sonnet

I dont make money the usual way
Theres no payroll or sick days or bosses

Instead I spend my time hunting for prey

While stacking my gains against your losses
We all have so many organs to spare
It almost seems selfish to keep them all
With my assistance youll soon learn to share
So please stop running, dont hide and dont crawl
Hearts, livers, and kidneys? Ill take the lot
Yes its illegal, but fun always is
It pays very well and I wont be caught
What can I say? Its a macabre biz
Maybe youll find yourself dead in a ditch
So be glad youre helping to make me rich

_ Kelley Lynne Moncrief

Hes Right I Do Hate To Talk About Money.

How much it will take
to get my car out the shop
how little the part time pay
I dont want him adding
mine up
discovering
the minus
that lies
to the front
of my balance
I live on borrowed time
the way daddy taught me
never saved one red dime
spent everything that came our way
Welfare checks and trust funds
always some down time in between
but on payday its always Christmas
so pull out the paper menu and get to ordering
I cant stand to be asked for it
but will buy anything you fancy
no matter how shiny and ridiculous

Please dont tell

this morning with no search for work
I bought champagne for breakfast
the raspberries organic
indebted
still
not very
sweet.
_ Cassandra Dallett

Less Is Not A Lack Of More

Thats very rich of you, you know
its very hard to live on the less
you know, but you may not know
what exactly less is. Think less
about yourself, more about others
who have the real less on which
a couple of small kids get less,
less food, less health care, more
and more stress to get what little
less is still available out there.
You should think less about more
stuff, a little extra for yourself,
pass the hat around for the less
fortune not whose less is more

than enough to barely survive.

So if its not only thoughtlessness
but much more of your intent,
you should probably know
less fortunates dont want your more,
they merely want less of their less.
_ Paul Strohm
Robot Parts
All the money I ever needed,
I traded
for two boxes of robot parts.
I'm going to build
a steam-powered
woman from a circuit board.
She might look a little
like you. And she might
bite.
I will
try to calculate
the kinematics of your bones.
On Wednesdays we'd
sink into a bottle and youd
spit for a dollar,
singing, I wish I may,
I wish I might
turn out to be a baller tonight.
Now you're gone, so I saved some money.
There's no point to
drinking without you.

Now you're gone; I

cant find the future; theres no
point in investing.
Instead I'll
build a robot woman to
be the one to
turn her back and snub me,
to be the one to remind me that,
though I have the cash,
people like us will never have the class.
_ Zach Lindsey
Crab
Sometimes I feel my own skin. Got no hair. They have it. I am
nobody. With twenty-four ribs and a wood burner. Swallowed
poison. Feeling like steel plates and then grass and for some
reason its so dark in here. Made someone happy for once. Hope
your son enjoys his new car. Hope he crashes and gets the steel
plates and the grass. Package deal. Got it. Got no hair. Dont
matter. Who matters. Ive got too much time. I have no time.
Someones got me. Someone owns me. I dont own me. Not
anymore. Feels like green sheets. Forgot about you a few times.
Sorry. I need more of this. Palliative. Made that guy rich. Feel
down and then back up again. Help me look at you. Help me
touch my own skin. Help me lie. I cant see anything down here.
Its all dark. Still remember? Its important. Was important. Guy
got his money. Wont do shit without his money. Nope. Call your
congressman. Tell him that. Where are you. Feel your footsteps.
Flowers. Its all dark here. Feel roots. Feel fine. Feel baby steps
and stone. Cry so I can hear. Ill cry too. Sorry. Youre sorry. Hes
not sorry. Says hes sorry. Didnt work. Not his fault. Sorry. One
day. Hopefully. Need more time. Didnt have enough time. Have
time now. Got too much time now. Too much time. Guy needs
more money.
_ Davis Land

THE PSYCHIC
She had an American flag welcome mat, an American flag
doorknocker, an American flag door, a glass American flag
doorknob, American flag hardwood, American Flag Turkish rugs,
an American flag Jasper Johns painting, an American flag couch,
an American flag cashmere sweater, an American flag tattoo
peeking out of her spaghetti top, American flag curtains, an
American flag dog even though I expected a cat, an American
flag tarot deck, an American flag crystal ball, American flag
runes, an American flag MacBook, American flag relaxation
techniques, American flag tea in an American flag mug, an
American flag contact lens in each eye, and, as she put it, a
quantum American flag draped over every quantum particle in
the room.
_ Manuel Abreu

I kiss you and I taste money. Cold, metallic, dirty, thrilling. I also
taste (and I've never admitted this before) shame I think,
maybe a wistful guilt over letting myself become essentially
your long-term prostitute. I remember youth when I believed in
genuine emotional connections, but then I wasted five and a
half years getting a bachelor's degree in theatre arts and I
realized that monetarily I am already owned, so I may as well
sell what's left of me for good food and nice clothes.
You've never mistreated me and I think I wish you would so I
could blame or hate you. I made the decision to sell myself to
you (though you phrase it in a much friendlier way) but I need
to share the blame. That hurts more than a fist or cruel word
ever fucking could. More than the lit end of my cigarettes when
I get drunk and put them out on my palms. I want you to hate
me but that wad of hundreds you hand me tells me that the
fight is over.

I wake up covered in shit and blood tucked away in the

underpass of the highway, having failed once more to throw
myself under a tractor-trailer, though my alcohol memory can't
tell me if it was from cowardice or a lack of traffic. You never
ask me about it but you pay for my stitches.
That night you dress me up and parade me through another
corporate function. You kiss my cheek when it's appropriate. I
meet one of the busboys in the bathroom for a line of coke and
he rebuffs my offer for a quick blowjob. I can't really blame him.
Dead eyes don't turn me on either.
I decide then that I will make you hate me. I throw a glass of
wine at your boss but it hits his wife instead and I feel like part
of the patriarchy. I sit on the floor and scream. You have me
check in for a three-day evaluation at Western Psych but I
blame it on the coke and they send me home with the number
for a rehab clinic they know I won't call. You never ask me about
it but that wad of hundreds you hand me tells me that the fight
is over.
_ Matthew Russak

What Changed
When Daddy Died
I gave his stuff away
just gave it

hoarders came
first with pick up trucks
then back with trailers attached
they emptied those storage lockers
Of Playboy, Penthouse, Scientific American, kerosene lamps, oil
paintings,
his sandal making equipment from the 50s, wood boxes,
cardboard boxes, more boxes.
And I had him burned in a plain wood box
with his old felt cowboy hat
and a hand woven sweater his ditsy girlfriend picked
Dad Lose the Bimbo, wed said.
but she lost him instead.
He payed on those storage lockers for thirty some years
moved all that stuff up the mountain and back down
his ball and chain
we turned his pistols into cold hard cash
split it between us like drug dealers
All the real silver had gone to drug dealers
back in the 80s
the cocaine years
and we just gave his shit away
his reason for never visiting us
never moving out west with us.
His other daughter unclaimed
heaving heavy pieces in to the arms of collectors
this is how she experienced him
through his stuff
it was that or his words
and trust me his words were even more pervasive
he was a talker, is what Im saying
well these junk men they had a big barn,
a great big barn to put it all in
said they wished they could have met him
they liked his hoarder style
Hey I did my time
clearing paths through car parts, and paintings, journals,
tractors, snowplows, dogs and so many
damn cats circling food bowls
like weed and Camel smoke yellowed the ceilings
he held on to broken pieces of his Park Avenue upbringing
reveled in his disregard of it.

The mud season chaos tracked in from the dooryard

lugged in with lanterns and pee buckets to make it through the
night
without tip toeing in snow cold feet
and when he died thats what changed
those old rounded finger nails
a warm hand, big soft lips
cold and dead
burned up in a plain wood box
carried back to the mountain
dumped into snow with Styrofoam cups
by his children and our mothers
red nosed but not crying
not sentimental us,
thats what changed
the hands
and the money
and the money changed hands.
_ Cassandra Dallett

between two kingdoms

_ Trevor Sensor
you want to be poor
i want to be rich
i am poor
you are poor

we are poor
we could be rich
i could be rich without you
i could be rich with you
or i could be rich and pretend to be poor
and you'd ask me
megan where did you get those shoes,
they look expensive
i got them on sale
megan how did you afford that jet ski
i got it on sale
when do jet skis go on sale
i saw an ad online
(you don't go online so you wouldn't know this)
you come home from work
megan where did all these exotic chickens come from
i ordered them on ebay
you ordered chickens on ebay?
yes they were on sale
chickens were on sale?
yes it was on sale
where are you getting all this money
they were on sale
_ Megan Wemberly Schurmann

EAT SHIT
Mechanism is at it againIm facedown in the mud and shes on
top of me and screaming.
EAT SHIT (x2)
She literally has a fist-full of her feces white-knuckled between
her fingers and shes trying to
force the turd into my mouth.
ENTER WITH ME IN THE DECOMPOSITION PROCESS,
Mechanism shouts, rubbing it
against my lips like chapstick.
This is the cue for me to issue a rebuttal: I WILL NOT INCREASE
THE RATE OF ENTROPY

IN THE UNIVERSE. (theres also the fact Im not all that

interested the whole eating
shit thing, but thats beside the point)
She makes to shove shit into my mouth while Im talking, but I
clamp my jaw shut before i
can receive an intestinal sandwich. THE PRIMARY LIFEGIVING/NEGATIVELY
ENTROPIC FORCE IN THE BIOSPHERE IS THAT OF MOLD AND
FUNGUS AND
MOSS: BREAKING THE DEAD BACK DOWN INTO USABLE PARTS.
Mechanism then experiences a right elbow to the face, dropping
the mess into my hair, of all
places, and I think about baths as if a holy symbol of the divine,
etc. I slip out from under
her, and gtfo ASAP-style.
CHORUS:
EAT SHIT MOTHERFUCKER EAT SHIT EAT SHIT
MOTHERFUCKER EAT SHIT EAT SHIT EAT SHIT
EAT SHIT EAT SHIT EAT SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT
EAT MOTHERFUCKING SHIT MOTHERFUCKER (x10)i
shes chasing after me and now b/c of her im thinking about
the biosphere. like, closed systems
and (lit.) shit and that exponential graph of human population
that biology professors put
up next to like the graph of n mouse population and its exactly
the same, except n has
gone ahead and zoomed over the precipitous pop. drop, and
then you extrapolate about

our very own human rollercoaster catastrophe (Top Thrill

Dragster @ Cedar Point).
[CHORUS]
and, if you put more thought into iteven as she hurtles a
steak knife after me, jesusyou
start thinking about agriculture and all the food-science that
went into continuing the
billioning of H. sapiens. Crop rotation, synthetic fertilizer,
Monsantos mutant corn, not
to mention the food-enriching process wherein an easy to
produce, unhealthy food is
laced with all kind of essential vitamins and minerals in order to
dose the populace with
nutrition. food essentially abstracted from what it means to be
foodmetavittles.
[CHORUS]
theres an entire ecosystem of decomposers in my guts, and out
of my intestines, I grow
and then, somewhere out there, another fungus or slime or
mold or whatever takes that
processed material and goes ahead in successive waves of not
wasting the buffalo.
then: Mechanism lands a fist in the back of my skull.
[CHORUS]
Notably spoken in iambic pentameter, of all things.
and so, in a way, were just eating recycled duty over and over,
anyway. feces and sweat-salt
caked on my face, a stream of blood across lip from a broken
noseI writhe under

her all-encompassing grasp. maybe it isnt so bad, eating shit,

being subsumed by the
soil, becoming the sepulcher upon which society is built?
Something relents in me
a deathwish, considering, but a kind of accepting suicidal action
acted out of a kind of
lustful, thieving desire for the machinery of the universe. I leave
my piehole wide open.
[CHORUS]
Mechanism flips me over and somehow now she has two
humongous fistful of the stuff. EAT.
SHIT. she says. I can feel the earth rumble in my bowels.
[BRIDGE]
_ Andrew Hoffman