A brief history of the Mesophile

The earliest records of the Mesophile refer to a Creation Myth: how they emerged from the primeval darkness and, thanks to the Sun’s bounty, moderate temperatures and an adequate supply of oxygen were able to take root and thrive.

By their reckoning thousands of generations had passed since The Great Sprouting.

Mesophilian culture had passed through three stages: the coccus, bacillus, and spiral. They were now on the cusp of advanced civilisation.

The ancient seers spoke of the Dark One, whose coming would blot out the Sun and plunge Mesophilia into blackness.

Then Craig came and binned the mouldy cheese.

the universe turns in on itself
a thought trips the synapses
and an eternity passes

Robbie Porter

A brief history of the Mesophile

cacophony in the eye

pssst listen a cloud respirating
it’s the wind sighing, “You’re mine”

a woman’s vibrato could be sadness in a real world

am I stepping into a soul?
carbuncled cheeks a shivering chin

absent sky absent life still life

my toes sanded gray ten wiggling stones
deciphering the language of seals

rumours rise on a bench the now  a honking overhead

a flickering V hurriedly ink-brushed
pierces the blue that ocean groans have frayed

no matter the pitted grass footfalls crackle on brittle heliotrope limbs

in the eye   in the end
a cacophony
on the beach

Alegria Imperial

cacophony in the eye

Pray

for the hell of it
for the weight of yourself on your knees
for the whispering sigh of your voice escaping
for the sourness of hypocrisy pickling your tongue
for the darkening thoughts pooling like sludge in your heart
for the tangled dreams that strangle your sleep
for the gods to suit up for the team
for something besides the news

disbelief
not a cloud
in the sky

Bob Lucky

Pray

Torturing Clichés to Ensure the Mysteriousness of My Death

1. Underground they stay up late because the longest worm is the one that sleeps in.

2. Pulling yourself up by the bootstraps is a clear sign you need help.

3. If you have a rock garden, the greenness of your neighbor’s lawn is beyond compare.

4. In a secondhand bookstore, the first thing you should do is judge a book by its cover.

5. I’m happy to say that I don’t know if ignorance is bliss.

getting old
my heart on the back
of my hand

Bob Lucky

Torturing Clichés to Ensure the Mysteriousness of My Death

A Little Drama

I take my heart out of its box, dust it off, and fluff it like a pillow. The musty smell of old dreams permeates the room. Later, the good wine gone, we feel the future expand, but our plans grow bigger until we can no longer imagine them.

I put my heart back in its box. It can’t take anymore.

(beat; licking a finger to make the glass sing)

Bob Lucky

A Little Drama