sits weeping in your desert (poemoff 2)

sits weeping in your desert (poemoff 2)

Alice huddles under a rock
sandstorm ripping the breath from her lungs
drying her tears before they are
out of her eyes

the Cheshire Cat's smile
does not linger here like so many
postcards written but not sent

The title of this poem comes from "WHEN YOU RUN OUT OF AIR?" by Zack.

the protestant ethic (poemoff 2)

the protestant ethic (poemoff 2)

is this god?
booms over the loudspeaker
as if the question being asked
matters to the masses
in line at the bank
to cash their checks
which really are their time
the hours of their lives
spent so spending comes cheaply

it is such a price to pay

heartless papers
written in blood
(lemon invisible ink
that only jesus can decode
without an easybakeoven of truth)

victory is a flock of seagulls
dead at the bottom of the mineshaft
threepiece scuba suits are needed
to dive but where do you go
when you run out of air?

The first line of this poem comes from "Heaven Hangs in the Air" by Zack.

oregon portrait #1

oregon portrait #1

each
sadly sickly
raindrop oozes
through the cracks
in my car door

and
wets my pants
in a spot
black as blood
and deeper blue
than my
memories of you

were blue.) your eyes were blue, (poemoff 2)

were blue.) your eyes were blue, (poemoff 2)

i see you, but
i do not look.
heaven hangs in the air
like mist from crashing waves
of the ocean. a dead fish
washes upon the shore.
i nudge her gently
with my toe.
she does not remember the sea
even though the waves lick at her scales.
her glassy eye reflects the sky.
i use it as a crystal ball
to learn that
you aren't
here.

The title of this poem comes from "i could be so easily broken.) my" by Zack.

and desire? (poemoff 2)

and desire? (poemoff 2)

MAKE UP YOUR MIND

there are no secrets
deeper than the ones
hidden in my subconscious.

snowflakes mix with wine spilled.
one droplet is shaped like a heart.
it cracks as you step over to me
and stand on the shifting snow.
(my blood red heart oozing with
cold is shattered in a moment. you did not know
i could be so easily broken.) my

brain thinks in haiku
syllables stretched thinner than
gold thread of smiles.

it's a good time that's not going to last
so i cling to every second
with the vicelike grip of heaven
'til my muscles weaken
and i let go and
flutter to the stars.

The title of this poem comes from "AND NIGHTS I WISH TO BE UN-REMEMBERED" by Zack.

on a bus on the road below, (at night (poemoff 2)

on a bus on the road below, (at night (poemoff 2)

the lights of Spokane
glisten behind me.
i wish that the lady next to me
didn't smell like three day old cheese.
her smell peremates my clothes
(and will 'til tomorrow
when she leaves the bus in Tacoma
and i'm left alone
and smelly in my seat).

tonight i'll eat hashbrowns
and wish for eggs
(and if wishes were fishes
i'd get a rash).
bus rides last too long
and nights i wish to be un-remembered
stay chiseled in brain
wrinkles show i'm getting older
and not any wiser.
tomorrow i'll be home and wish
i was anywhere but here.

The title of this poem comes from Mr. Zack's "(perhaps it time to try again)."

i could only find myself by following the trail of paperclips. (poemoff 2)

i could only find myself by following the trail of paperclips. (poemoff 2)

i looked inside the fridge
but the real me wasn't
there. i searched bottles of beer but
only another beer waited at the bottom.
(perhaps it is time to try again.)
looking inside your eyes
for a reflection of me,
i saw repulsion, lust and fear.
but you don't understand.
why bother trying to explain?

i am all reds and yellows
you are looking for gray

where are the cardboard box mansions of yesteryear?
everything was easy then
except growing up.

The title of this poem comes from Zack's "AND REMOVE THE SHADES".

red or blue like playing cards (poemoff 2)

Due to some personal issues, I kind of gave up on the poemoff. But poemoffs are fun to do, so I wrote my next submission in hopes that Zack would forgive me and write his next poem.

red or blue like playing cards (poemoff 2)

a carefully crafted pokerface
crumbles under the heat.
my hand trembles--
is that a tell?
to speak one must go all in
and remove the shades
from so many misspent glances.
should i hoard my chips
or should i eat them?
plastic chipping under chomping jaws
little shards to fly about the table.

The title of this poem comes from Zack's "YOU ONLY TALK ABOUT LIFE".

the photographer

the photographer

winter is cold
yet blurred with swirling colors.
the bouncing of shapes--
the friction--should warm
(at least the skin) but
it's only a temporary warmth
the way that a bonfire can only
heat one side of your body at a time.

this is a lense i cannot remember
blink

the pink of my flesh glows.
it knows something i don't
for on monday, weekend music is a
dim piano solo played by a five year old at his lesson.
twist your eyes and you can just hear it.

memory of the sea

memory of the sea

salt stings freshly shaved legs
but still we wade
waves washing above our ankles