Wood forest autumn mushrooms
Must we point out, bony fingers charging, that
Until you’ve entertained us, seeing the future is the
same as remembering the past? Until you’ve peered with us,
How easily your wobbly grin and queasy legs will betray your
Rude spirit. You hold your speech like some key
Outstretched toward broken lock. We’re laughing at you. Our
Only hope, your decaying relevance. Our magic, nothing
More than a chance for you to reconsider yourself, thoughtfully
Squander your humanity, indulge the pill bugs and beetles.

By Ryan Scariano

Ryan is the author of two poetry chapbooks: Smithereens, published by Imperfect Press, and Not Your Happy Dance, forthcoming from Finishing Line Press. Some of his recent poetry has appeared in The American Journal of Poetry, Rock & Sling, Phantom Drift, basalt, DASH, and Bright Bones: Contemporary Montana Writing.