Klev, Clever. Beverly. Clarely? Clearly.

Surly Murly got a swirly but never sought revenge. Until early one morning he shot barly and juniper from a flask he held hushed to the sun. Gin once again in the hot desert sin, he slugged from his jug of tin. Morein, his kettle unsettled, he heated his metal, and boiled his dagger once more. It laid through the skin of his rivalous friend and he walked with him dead on the floor.

by Brian Gore & Ryan Hochstatter

No Sir

I want what I want because it's what I want

but you just want me to say what you want me to say.

Watch the wheels peel along the road as I go way

of the South, the North, soar, fail, or grow stale.

Figure if I dropped the ball to watch it chased across the street,

what would you think?

Say I said what you expected. Suppose I sung the dirge you need.

Beneath the boxes where we explored constellations we'd never seen was incredible.

What I'd like now is a margarita in a soft glass.

Take me second class, she can have my seat.

What if I got hot feet or a too-hot-to-trot beat

or we all recognized or acknowledged the heart's weak,

and we slugged the sleak slushy drink in the soft glass of concrete.

Staple the sun to the moon. Slow her pace with the weight of his moan.

On bricks, I sat under a jet-setter's home

as he soard through the sward at the back of the swarm.

It was fun-tastic freedom at the nickle arcade.

It was persons, places, things, and cupcakes.

It was chocolate on one side, mesquite on the other.

It was teal and off-color.

It was dirty water and delicate caffeine.

Her is no more than less than There

and in every wash of wester blue

it grew more than more than what i feared

and only I was truth.