zinc words & images

  • Break ups

    Believe it or don’t, but It may be over. The distance Between sighs is palpable And now I don’t know your hair color Or your thoughts on Natasha Lyonne’s new show. The strained Messages remind me Of deep caves that never Return sound to their messenger. If I am forlorn it may be because Sound…

  • End is nigh

    Wash me in ash culled from the river, The place where the burned trees gather. Hunt for the sun as it sets a bloody curtain Over the horizon. Grasp me fiercely As if I am careening toward the world’s Gaping maw. Make believe that tomorrow exists.

  • Lookout Points

    We have tall trees. The sort that seems to have raised themselves From a story,  rather than a seed. From the north they look Like spindly teeth ready to eat The sky. Along their roots, We mapped the spine of our land, Coming to conclude that Moss is a language rather than A cartographer’s mark.…

  • Physical impassibility

    What bones are these? Typing, hanging between gravity’s decisions. Metaphors hardly capture the way my capillaries dance, imprecisely reasoning whether one can see both sides of a coin. Philosophically, a coin only has one side, the side that is visible. My body and its cells, want the solution to be existence on all plains, though,…

  • Where We Went

    Unwrap your teenage heart Like a chocolate dream. I miss the self that sings, the one that wraps string around her finger and waves. Lightening steps and electric belief was what we wanted and could never get. Not enough to satisfy. Rather, we became maudlin. Watched rises, stretches, untouched heartache, unmounted tenderness and lamented the…

  • Who walks

    The pain you feel is natural. It reminds you of the asparagus tips You moved from one side of your plate to another. When you wished You were somewhere else Anywhere else. But really That was the problem. Sight. The invisibility. You Are never alone but A room of lamps and chats Reminds you of…

  • Scenic

    The shape of your waist is a bolt of red satin wrapped around a spool. The woven ripple makes waterfalls and valleys, lines and angles. I can see you, a pillar, red, against the sky, against mother earth and father city.

  • Turning

    If we take candor at its word, We can see though To night. I could let you lay Still       but waiting Holds no promise Of visibility. Better to Tousle your hair and pull At your shoulder than Imagine the morning And its light of absence.

  • 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…