zinc words & images

  • April 24

    Manet’s hand painted the sad flowers of Paris, and I stood in the cool marble of dead British patriots, watching the eyes watch me. When I look into the 2-dimensional soul, I see myself aloof framed in wood paneling. Existing with emotion and absinthe. But questions: how did these women do it? No tampons? Girdles?…

  • April 23

    Long drives until you called to me “Look up at the green geometry of the roadside.” Beside us was the impetuous landing, the cardinal sin of history, mounded with earth. Zephyrs were slower, so my hair billowed, expanding weightless, weaving in and out like the dusky trails of a 4th of July sky. Directional messages…

  • April 23 #2

    On repeat I hear your favorite song, so much harmony and the sad energy of contemporary men who have dogs but no purpose. It is elliptical or epic, beginning with the story at the end. Flourishes and backbeats, breaking the audience’s necks as if their heads were brushed by the hand of an unseen uncle.…

  • April 23

    We picked up where we left convivientes and conspirators looking to chase the showering moonlight. you held my hand, lead the way to the dawning. I cannot forgive the path for not returning you. Life wicked off in my hand and midnight recesses recall your visage in reflection, shadowed memory. Floating above your twin bed…

  • April 21

    I love the urgent pressure between spine and stern that requires me to fold you into my body bring you closer smother and consume you bury you along my ribs and raise a monument to your existence in my belly. Balancing on a pebble leaving time and digging fingernails deep into decay and reliving the…

  • April 20

    Your skin spoke to me as a longitudinal study of music, theater, art, politics, strummed against my body and the beat of a fan overhead moving particles of the temperate flow. Cold dampened my toes and fingers until I could not retain my kindled words. The prickles of a ghost were partnered with your eyes…

  • April 19

    Along the fence you follow with ringed fingers. The softness is filled with wine and fruit, the kind that fills the sky a beautiful rose. Rather to stare straight in eyes without malice, than raise the rail’s edge to careful lust. I couldn’t tell what this was, barrier or bound. But, nourish me further love…

  • April 18

    The sound comes to me mimicking my mind the single celled spider calls to me wondering where i am i used to be on the mountain top looking down on you from up high in the blue it wasn’t until the night that i saw it wasn’t true you gave me a necklace that meant…

  • April 17

    I read this book from page to page. Fingertip to fingertip we measured ourselves against outpaced time and crushing spirit. The young wild one, awake with Andromeda, talking of dancing and what would be a boy and what would be a girl. The black eyeliner and rockabilly swinger Cuddled together under comfort reminders Ambient being,…

  • Beauty in Song

    Working this way has been challenging to say the least. Poetry is, for me, something that is organic first, edited second. Developing something original everyday based on my experiences and memories and then refining it into something I am satisfied with is pushing my outside creative edges in a positive way, though. That being said,…