—Taylor Graham, Placerville
Behind him, a city grafted on smoke-
filled rooms, the exhalation of chimneys.
He has no name for the glitch
of reason or will that brought him to this raw-
hide land, its dry boleros of wind
across bare distance,
its comfort of the wavering
campfire under stars.
7:00 – Host Rebecca Morrison
8:00 – Host Frank Andrick
Terry Moore with LSB
9:00 – Host NSAA
Open Mic with LSB’s back-up
(Features welcome to join in!)
10:00 – Host Terry Moore
What do you call the solace of walking
alone? Natural as a leaf among oak trees
on the morning of mid-summer,
between meadow and a cedar ridge—
and even the birds were silent, the wind
had no words as it fingered
What was it I heard, and didn’t
hear? What could she call, without
a mouth for words?
A girl—no more a girl, but
what they found weeks later.
Speechless. Grounded, a fallen leaf.
What do bones say?
—Richard Zimmer, Sacramento
On the table, a coffee cup that bears his
name—his only legacy. If it were to be
smashed, he’d leave nothing behind—
people would forget he’d ever lived.
Philip Flounders hears a buzz in his ear.
A small voice telling him the coffee cup
is his only identity, with power over him.
The voice tells him to get another cup.
He sees the name Napoleon appear on it.
Phil feels a new sense of power. He starts
giving orders to an invisible army. His
Face lights up. He never felt so good.
The small voice gruffly says he must
get another cup. The name on it is now
Jack the Ripper. Phil’s hands shake. He
cries, I don’t want to be a murderer!
You’ll be doomed a nobody if you don’t,
the voice warns him. Phil collapses. Later
waking, he looks fondly at his old cup—
changing his name to Phil Floundaires.
Phil Floundaires, that sounds great!
No one can make a fool out of me now.
He sets his coffee cup down, and walks
out the door with a brand-new identity.
ALWAYS GIVE YOUR WORK A TITLE
—Kevin Jones, Fair Oaks
And so he asked them,
What is it you do,
They told him:
A Thing without
A name, Macbeth.
It all went downhill