It should go without saying that no one goes into poetry for money.
You found your way into my soul; I trapped you in a jar.
And as you lay with me the carnival sways.
Semen stains the mattress and I turn out the lights;
We lay naked in this mistaken act of love.
from Unload My Head by Ryan Horner, published in RCC MUSE 2014 issue
I ordered another scotch. I lit her cigarettes and somehow knew she believed in abortion. Perhaps even had one. She liked ice cream in the wintertime. And somewhere in her past she actually had a relationship that ended well.
J.L. Schneider, from the short story “Turquoise for Two”, published in MUSE Spring 2014 issue
Heather, you’re grown so I can tell you
in those days nobody knew what sex looked like,
not like now, what you see in movies and in the ads
on the sides of city buses. They just tasted it
in the air. It hummed on their tongues;
their nostrils flared. And each person
learned in the dark.
Rochelle Jewel Shapiro, from her poem “How Your Grandparents Met”, published in the MUSE Spring 2013 issue