by Michael Fraser

Is there a safe word to escape?
I can’t take my local bar anymore.
The fiscal cliff fills drinks during
happy hour. On CNN I saw
republicans returning from space.
At midnight, we’ll hear something
about the Mayan calendar.
Let me tell you about the nostalgia
implanted in our species.
When it finally arrives we’ll all
ask is this really happening,
and a dusted voice will say, yeah,
just keep a hand on your wallet.
I want the Nobel Prize for being.
Prisoners, sinners, and saints will
corral together, covered by the syntax
of a great sentence. It will rise over hills
and buildings like a flap in the day,
a page dog-eared in time.
Peter will call from the landfill
and a press conference will materialize.

— from Juniper Volume 1, Issue 1