This is gonna clock you in the jaw like "BASH POW"

Etc. Yeah, just like the old Batman clips.

You ready for this, here it comes. Well, here it comes, August 2009.




Killer. 4 pieces of fiction. 15 poems. Hurray.

**

Pretend this is class, okay? Fifth grade. Call on me. Send me notes under the desk. Yes, No or Maybe? I dunno. I might doodle something cute, like a face with crooked nose. Oh, that means I love you in 11-year-old. Let's eat bagged lunches together at the bottom of a slide and hide behind water fountains, wasting time with our breath held. It's times like this that I'm glad our social hierarchy isn't based on height, but what we can fit inside our heads and hands. So, let's run with clenched fists to the cafeteria, shove the stale vegetables inside our milk cartons so we can have dessert, and run through the hallway banging knee-high lockers.



**



Pretty good. I'd recommend it.