I enter the bathroom at half past seven.
As usual there are three things for me to do:
close the toilet lid, put the toothpaste back to the mug and hang up the towel.
Every morning the same sequence.
Once in a while I’d like to surprise myself and do something unexpected but I’d know if I planned it, right?

magnifying mirror
the tiny secrets
I wanted to keep

Eva Limbach

Peter Newton

if you die in your sleep do you keep on dreaming.

the casual way
we say
‘see you tomorrow’

Michael Rehling

the past. it is never really over.

headstones
the lies we tell
to others

Michael Rehling

It was just like that sun glasses commercial I once saw on TV. A beautiful woman dressed to kill on a downtown street waving at me as she approaches from afar. As I tentatively wave back her pace quickens. But by the time she reaches me I can see the disappointment on her face. “Oh,” she says, “I thought you were somebody else.” Taking off my Foster Grants I reply, “I am.”

a walk on the wild side delphiniums

Johnny Baranski

You don’t get something for nothing, to paraphrase Einstein. But that’s not the same as saying you can’t create matter. How could it be? Creating matter is a fundamental premise of the Big Bang.

quark quark
a quantum duck
in Schrödinger’s box

If a Big Bang can happen once, why not again? After all, how long can the odds be in an infinity of possibilities? Surely it’s a dead cert. Frankly, I’m more concerned with whether the resultant hypervolumes can interact.

quark antiquark
a quantum duck disappears
up its own black hole

While it’s universally accepted that the Big bang created time, what the hell is going on in the dimensions without time? Nothing? Everything? Can we comprehend it? Does it warrant contemplation? Perhaps I should have a cup of tea and listen to the cricket commentary instead.

antiquark antiquark
the universe clean bowled
a quantum duck

David J. Kelly

Words: the building blocks of language. To me, that analogy suggests further extensions. Is an author an architect? A printer a builder? What of the reader then? Do they inhabit the structures of language? Are they residents or visitors? Perhaps they wander endless streets which link every word ever written, without ever calling one of them home, not even their own name. Then again, perhaps a metaphor may only be extended so far.

labyrinthine
lost in the words
not their meanings

David J. Kelly