zinc words & images

  • Reunion

    Regress. Redress. These last lights guide us home Without resolve. And with blue Waving to us from the neon Night we regard each other as Strangers.   Fictive. Addictive. We move time away like layers Of dust. Thick with apprehension, Lacking revelation, I Wipe my mind’s eye of our last Question.   Fortune. Ruin. In…

  • 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…

  • True promise

    Lessen the lively way You say, forever. Forever Is not what you think it is.   Burnished steel with oil And old cotton shirts. Buttons On fire when the world ends.   Is it a guidepost or clock, An imperceptible second or The sun’s arc across the sky.   More so fatal reasoning And an…

  • Say these words

    Your tongue is coated in gold.   Cradle me in your body And ransom time. You owe It nothing beyond human temper.   Your tongue is a trap, a blackhole, The ebbing of existence in return For fleeing neutrons and waning pulses.   Gold.

  • On the Walk

    Come to me When you are done measuring Yourself against the wind. I will put down my rake And welcome you as if You had never left. The chair faded from afternoons of sun And nights of dew Will be waiting In the northwest corner of the garden, Where you can watch The birds create…

  • Measured

    I took the bird wing from the shelf And placed it in a pouch of red gingham. A bundle misshapen and lonely, save For its solitary companion, a tin ring, found trapped in the quarter slot Of a gumball machine. I do not know Where this gift will find its resting place. From my place…

  • 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.…

  • The Young Architect

    In the fall, we would make a house and take turns being the mother. There were no walls, only an architect’s plan made of crisp, crepe leaves. Rake. Neat lines. Making sure to leave openings for the door.