Grab Bag Mug by Steven Translateur

YED GERTHMER poured some orange juice into the mug he won at the keno tournament. He served it to his neighbor Fersia Gansun who was visiting for an afternoon snack. “They said that the mug is blessed,” said Yed. “They may have just have been joking.” Fersia sipped the juice. “Tastes fine though,” she said. “And what an adorable cat it has on its side. I believe it's an image of a purebred!”
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Why
         did the baby water moccasin float in
on a palm-sized river,
flick its tongue to sniff
our toast and bacon,
through the crack between
the foundation and door?

I woke up behind Supreme Lobster near the corner of North Avenue and Rte. 83 my mouth tripping through alternating aphasias. I sounded like a record skipping but every time you stood up to fix the needle the language would correct itself only to become confusing again once your ass met the alley’s creosote. You exhaled in frustration adding a layer of humidity to the striating ambiance. We were getting buried in invisible sediment.

        after Gaylord Brewer
Now would be a good time
for a good sign.
My rocks are just fine,
how are yours?
The coast still okay?
(We had each taken a coast
to find what people are like
when the water pulls them
from different directions.)

The movie begun thus.

Inky strips like lizards’ tongues
Hissing from the cylinders, so
I’m in mind of reptile minds.
I’m a junky for the tethers
Of zone to zone zero.
Now a cone of blue light,
Floating motes adance
Against the dark. The sighs.