zinc words & images

  • Typewritten

    What are our sins? When we write home what do we say? What can we say With dust in our lungs And blood on our fingertips? Forgetfulness and the decollecting Of history stains, too.  

  • Ephemera

    Were I a song I suspect I’d be hidden, Folded into the spine Of a book. Never sung. Vaguely remembered By the writer and his wife Who hummed it briefly, Then went about getting Dinner ready. Found Too late, notes faded On the paper remains.   But, really, I’m not written yet.  

  • April at Night

    Tonight the windows ripple with lightening.   Each shot from the sky breaks me open like bread.   With rain, instrumentation, an arrangement,   layers that drop into place, roil my body,   subside and return louder, more insistent.   Water wants its place beside the night’s bright fire.    

  • Wanting to be

    Cradle me and tell me I’m alive and good. Smooth my forehead, I remember you did that once late at night. I thought you would kiss me then. I just need someone to hold my hand and feel the substance of my being. There are tendons and muscles and tiny bones inside. But, oh, could…

  • 8B

    Capture my shoulders In graphite. Leave the page Where you traced my soul And drew my wings. Today it was even harder to leave familiar, To tape reminders On your path and show you Where you once where. How do I convey The opposition of word and deed. You put paper to it, Reconfiguring an…

  • Sound and color

    Between Rome and Florence, amongst strangers, a blue-sounding tunnel took me to my destination. A star-fed cloak wrapped the day and was only interrupted by shuffling magazine pages and the argument of two men on the street. The granite cobbles seemed to move with them, allowing their hands to gesture above the cars girdling the…

  • Closing time

    With seconds left you tell me. Lights soaring and ripping apart the sky. Stones scattered on the rain-discolored pavement. When your eyes are closed, you say, this is what eternity looks like. But you are born today or yesterday or 50 years from now. Time is shuffled like cards and God lands on whatever is…

  • On rotation

    Things that keep me writing and thinking about writing this week. This song has been out for a while but I keep coming back to it. Less for the specific lyrics, though the writing is fantastic, and more for the way the rhythm reinforces the sadness of Bahamas’ voice. When the female chorus reaches that…

  • Crosswalk

    This is a poem for you. For how hard you ran When there were six seconds left On the crosswalk. The wind shifted And your scarf trailed behind You in the breeze. I wondered What you imagined yourself To look like, bright sun and breeze, Dressed in Soho black. Magic. Because you were strange And…

  • Sometimes

    Can you cry for the loss, for the way the words lay across my lips? Or celebrate the crossing of an idea into the air. What happens now, happens forever. So say what you mean, what you feel. Answer yourself before anyone else. Make sure you know the question. So cry or don’t, but be prepared…