mrs. maybe

EDITORS' NOTE

Dear Mrs. Maybe,

for this they haven’t yet
made up an emoticon

Dear Emoticon,

alas iceland is closed don’t read in that voice roots are
everywhere tiles are hard to clean caramel is hard on your
teeth the law was this language was like headgear oh embark
i can shoot rubberbands from my face everyone participates
  suspended in jell-o
  smile before sinking
       little birds are looking life-like
      applesauce in my shoes was my favorite prank to play on myself.

*

Dear Mrs. Maybe,

Larkspurs on what map of what constellation was such
stomach sadness.  Arguable asterisk for eyes.

Dear Stomach,

Toys in the attic!  they broke many pots, and they spoke toothless
wordings, Mr. Possible, their stomach sadness, three days of pork
situated themselves inside the apology, and the grinding of the coffee
grinder.  Drink some more water, shake the ampersand out of the book
and put an alka-seltzer tablet under the sole of your shoe, K?

*

Dear Mrs. Maybe,

how was the asterisk assigned to eight? 
The ampersand to seven?

Dear Eight,

Exactly!  Tuneless reeling, the solstice was identified in swamp. 
where is your mother?  where is your wild cow – WOW!  Midsummer orgies,
     the dock.  I like a sense of surprise when I enter a seminar on
         funding midsummer orgies.  Should I be trying for something
            about insistence?  He still thinks it is Pavement, but we
              don’t know if that's a failed promise.  The asterisks
                  spinning in your eyes declare yourself a romantic artist
                in attitude, wild cow, unfound, in style. Ring change
                        when you are asked in strategy, antagonism, an aging
            boxer reels away the tune.  The end cliff
             got me too, moon barring the door past it – a light drink.

Mrs. Maybe offers more of her advice in Issue 2, in print.

Lagniappe Page
Issue One
Issue Two