zinc words & images

  • Dreaming of Sound

    Cacophony scrape, My sound and The sound of forgiveness. I once thought the sound of death, But know that blackness has a stillness Unreplicated. This is movement, Sheet metal across gravel Ready to awaken the God of heat As it strides the exterior wall of someone’s house. Sound deep in your teeth, Scrape The rest…

  • Untitled

    Clambering eyes Take to the body And cling rather than linger.      

  • Late Summer Along the Missouri

    I followed a reed Down to the ground, It’s stoic greenness Leading my hand.   Fibers, like razors, Like all grasses slice The dry parchment of My palm and make a   Blessing of my life. Leaves, embalmed in muck Tangle with the fine hairs Put forth by your will,   Reed. I expect frost…

  • Woven

    ‘I’ve run in the winter With cold feet, brittle ice Sending angled signals Away from me as if The ice beneath me must Warn its brethren.   We are shod in last year’s Season, found by our mothers, Discarded by Autumn, But still something of our own. When the tapestry Of suspended water   Subsides…

  • 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…

  • Invention

    People are capable. Marigolds become brittle. What was worn is new. Fire escapes rain down Particles of soil seeping through the drainage Holes of a city garden. It is in the rust That change comes And in the taut drum Sound. Golden polish buffed With an old t-shirt And ignored by children Looking at clouds.…

  • Selfie

    Is this me? Hair laid over one eye, Looking, but not looking. Am I Narcissus or The discoverer of a new World? Blue, Brown, cream, pink. The pigmentary fragments Of an image I recognize As a fateful friend I never knew. Adjustments and lighting Obscure and reveal further, Shifting shade and light to be Fragonard,…

  • In Absentia

    Hips and depression don’t go together. Used too much or too little. Either way the body compulses until materiality dissipates. My fleshy corporea hides a thing, brittle, like newspaper, carbonized, though it works harder than any laboring hand or industrial composition. “I think it wants to kill me” or at least, to cauterize my humanity.…

  • Musings on a Single Topic #2

    What are phantoms made of? stardust memories The mist from lava dropping into the ocean ectoplasm open doors blowing curtains words spoke softly dim lamps with antique shades beaded curtains crackling branches padded steps on a wood floor lost loves good advice, in retrospect dappled forest light letters photographs portraits historic markers a large single…

  • Musings on a Single Topic #1

    What is left behind? Me You We Paper clips and candy wrappers Friends from high school Friends from college A car, in the parking lot of a bar, when you’ve had too much to drink A CD, a favorite one, in 1998, in your ex’s car Doggie bags full of leftovers A credit card A…