Just a temporary man, who writes poetry and listens to too much noisy music. His hobbies include salivating about glaciers destroying civilization and the cultivation of facial hair. Additionally, he generally strives to make himself as useless as possible....follow the thread back...

CONTRAST

January 27th, 2012 by Zack

CONTRAST

a dozen lips,

not to know who I am

but by halves

and haves

:;:

a drunken moon,

dully reflecting,

laying claim

to light not

it’s own.

HINGES

January 19th, 2012 by Zack

HINGES

where a door
once stood

the empty frame

hangs waiting

still permitting
the exchange

of thoughts, objects

from this side
to this
other side.

ALTRUISTIC SARCASM

January 3rd, 2012 by Zack

ALTRUISTIC SARCASM

spitspeakskip :;:
a vomited sunrise,
half-digested light

soaking into your
knockoff comforter,
your burnt hair

your shallow, graven
breaths, each exhale
a wasted chance to

steal another truth.

EVERYTHING IS IMAGINARY

October 4th, 2011 by Zack

EVERYTHING IS IMAGINARY

heptagonal, wounded

a breath alone,

in the unknighted night,
still squired, unsquared

and moon round, but not
moon red.

PEBBLE MOUTH

October 4th, 2011 by Zack

PEBBLE MOUTH

mutter, love
as if there was

any other way
to pronounce it

the unwelcome house guest
chuckles, anecdotally

moon spotting, writing
a guide to her pale

disguises.

‘MAZE

September 27th, 2011 by Zack

‘MAZE

smooth wall folds—

unclue,

a constant discovery

for the beast at the center.

HUNCHES

July 27th, 2011 by Zack

HUNCHES

all ‘fores :;: off

her ring, smooth

ed, silver un

sinuate. :;: lie

for giving, or

and/or taken

a back, a, b,

:;: longing, im

print, fictitious

cartographer’s class.

8 OUR

June 28th, 2011 by Zack

8 OUR

chitinous Gregor,
slips ‘low the fridge,

trivial seconds, pie
spoils, oversweet,

oversweated, Bloom’s
go under-celebrated,

ha—bless you, a waste,
Wyoming hides work,

we don’t walk, the talking
swallows our tongues,

the birds bark, the leaves lie.

THE APPROXIMATE IMPERSONATOR

June 28th, 2011 by Zack

THE APPROXIMATE IMPERSONATOR

no thing’s
stumble tongue
stuck syllables
stalk semi-selves,

“Sirius sez”
no other ‘nother,
unsung sunset,
un-gun-ed, sounds

suck the life from

us—like words

RUT

June 28th, 2011 by Zack

RUT

rotten luck—old chum—make bloody—well sure…

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