zinc words & images

  • Twilight Dream

    Braided crown, glowing flesh, certainly unreal against the street’s opulence laid down by the rain and now catching the light like pearls strewn across the floor. Your voice, laid against mine, bore through the molecules between us. A path through time, flooding with desire, magic words that bind us in front of this 19th Street…

  • Music-maker

    I can’t stop singing. Every name I’ve known, on a note, ringing. I smile, open my throat. Sounds, a glorious treaty between myself and my past. I catch the A# and pull it back, my first death and I make it last. How is it that my heart is my mouth? I know your breath…

  • Shadow passing

    I stayed up To watch the sun Rise in your eyes. It was every Expression Imagined. You became warm And enriched, Burning even. Your palms glowed, Ripe with lengthy Summer light. I took your hand In mine and was radiant.

  • Open heart

    Seeing you is a riot To my eyes. In it Is roiling memory And that sense (you may be   Feeling it, too) of each Rib cracking itself to Introduce my heart to The midday sun as it seeks   To brace itself against Recalling your closed Eyes, your hair pushed Behind your ear, whilst…

  • Golden flood

    The wheat waits for us Brushes and waves Licking the moonlight It’s seed ready for an Odyssey. The grass has laid a graph Of shadows on top of you. And what do you wait for? There is never a right time To become what we wish we weren’t. Failing silence, I speak to say Tomorrow’s…

  • Threaded Through the Air

    On my way home I saw a song or rather I felt a song and saw the man singing it. He was on a street corner bus stop, waiting, mouth open, leaning back for diaphragm’s sake. The sound traveled through my closed window and I turned to look and thought, yes, I feel that way,…

  • Musings on a Single Topic #3

    What is a gift? “Lover You Should’ve Come Over” and every single person that covers it. This body, as broken as it is. My magnolia tree and fresh bread and good butter. Mark Rothko. The intersection in front of Mother India, and the beautiful fragrance I can smell while stopped at the red light. The…

  • Depressive Interstate Communication

    I am not sure how to say, “I miss you” without fearing your reply. Days, months and years came upon me quickly, so that now, the past seems distant and I seem callous. I was drowning and still I circle the edge of a pond that I am at the bottom of. If today is…

  • Der Blauen Kunstler

    When you paint a house on canvas it must be blue, for this is the color of home. The soft robin’s egg edges of motherly relationships, the deep indigo of sleep and dreaming begins at your hand. Reunions, a pale sky of ephemerous greetings and embraces. However wayward the color of distant foothills and city…

  • Long Walk

    Regulate my temerity, but lust for the bastions, where roses and a deep sigh wait. Beekeeping myself against waxed rows and granular helpings of pine-scented lips. Retire this feeling beneath the decking boards and the sunlight relish, that lift my shoulders beyond where I knew they could be. Shanks and beatitude for the trees and…