Author Archives: Zak

walking up
stairs, so, does any
one need any
thing? empty
windows surround
you. spaces
for panes; ghostly.

throw the stuff in the bag.
clothes.
jars and bags
of food.
containers of food.
pack up the bags.
take them from
and to.

i have made it in
ways that others will
not, cannot, do
not. others
make it in ways
that are not for me.

they feel
like vacancies. or
blank sheets of paper.

piercings and markings.
wrapped around
in chains.
embellishments
to say, “not agreeable”.

forgotten stone
fence all in
a ribbon along
a tattered road.

coffee
in the morning.

no second guessing
the caffeine.

there are small birds
in the tangle of
bare bushes.
they flit in
the orange light
of pre-Winter.

the medication makes you
sick. the walk from
your home is wooden,
sodden. the barista
laughs with the cook.

the caffeine causes
panic so the coffee
is stripped of it.

there are six colors
to choose from.
any combination
of the six can be
used. several
in a row all pick
the same colors,
in the same combinations;

a wool coat
and a coffee.

we do what
we like.

a thin skin
of ice, in the shallow
part of the harbor.

and all of my
black tattoos
always turn blue

days before
my birthday my only
nephew was born.
days after
my birthday my only
father died.

pull the chair
out for your
self.
lift yesterday’s
news.
their stool
chatter-scrapes a
cross the floor.

the plastic
zipper inevitably
breaks. a few
months, maybe, maybe
you’ll get a few
months.

people working very
hard at being
people. people
going to
the ocean to pull things
out of the ocean
to turn into
people. people

the stove lights right
up. blue flame
jumping against dull
silver. you have
fuel for the stove.

performative removal of
insects, without
killing. a show
of not killing.

i caught eight
fish in two
days. that’s
about three
hundred dollars.

you thought you
might be able to
describe it, explain it.

still i
am simple;
fear, sadness,
anger.

as it is
normal,
that it is
insane,
is overlooked.