Zak – Page 21 – zakschafer.com

farmers market in early-mid-september in bucolic college town along the shores of a lake and the sun is on fire but no does not burn

i talk to my friend about getting drunk and love, he stops responding once we move from drunkenness to love

i roamed around a tiny island town and took photos in a morning of late Fall

if i don’t floss and brush my teeth early in the evening, i’ll just end up eating and eating long after my caloric needs have been met

a woman who despised me for the need she had, first introduced me to a writer who has stayed with me long after that woman stopped returning my emails

i think the gold colored wool shirt i am wearing is cool but my lumpy body, decidedly less so

on sunny days i am a loser

i am unsure how it feels but am certain that i have returned

an airplane over the american west; feeling uneasy with calm

your phone says you are in, or at least from, western washington, but not seattle

i attach a hose to
a spigot
on a wooden dock,
floating.

and today is fruit of 3 barren years; sobriety in a time of plenty

my friend tells me that the oddities of my titles makes it difficult to catalogue; the houses of our names are many-chambered

i’m supposed to ask permission to use people’s names when i write but how often have i done what i am supposed to?

halibut and kale over propane flame

they are heading to Nevada so i take them to the airport and return to the quiet kindness of their home they share with me

all i do is kill time until i can eat again

they both started out about the same but one deepened to near black and the other pale’d itself to translucent pink rose

katlian street in late august and a heathered black wool zip neck, too warm, carried in a curled palm

euphemism and lechery like lukewarm tea like blazing 60 degree heat like fog bank rolling in expecting welcome and receiving only up-turned hoods

i spoke to Zach about building shelving and counter with wood, he, telling me, “the moisture content of the wood will help determine what can be built”

eliason harbor in late august, a few days past year’s last minus tide

Andrew picks me up in his truck and we go out to the boat launch to launch his boat and he pulls gear in search of halibut while i stand there and take photos and sway on sea legs through my mind

Author Archives: Zak

farmers market in early-mid-september in bucolic college town along the shores of a lake and the sun is on fire but no does not burn

katlian bay in early september; it is a rainforest, it does as it is called to do

all of the trees are straight and tall and their tops bow gently to the sky

instead of depression, dowels; sunshine in October

i talk to my friend about getting drunk and love, he stops responding once we move from drunkenness to love

i roamed around a tiny island town and took photos in a morning of late Fall

if i don’t floss and brush my teeth early in the evening, i’ll just end up eating and eating long after my caloric needs have been met

a woman who despised me for the need she had, first introduced me to a writer who has stayed with me long after that woman stopped returning my emails

i think the gold colored wool shirt i am wearing is cool but my lumpy body, decidedly less so

on sunny days i am a loser

i am unsure how it feels but am certain that i have returned

an airplane over the american west; feeling uneasy with calm

your phone says you are in, or at least from, western washington, but not seattle

and today is fruit of 3 barren years; sobriety in a time of plenty

my friend tells me that the oddities of my titles makes it difficult to catalogue; the houses of our names are many-chambered

i’m supposed to ask permission to use people’s names when i write but how often have i done what i am supposed to?

halibut and kale over propane flame

they are heading to Nevada so i take them to the airport and return to the quiet kindness of their home they share with me

all i do is kill time until i can eat again

they both started out about the same but one deepened to near black and the other pale’d itself to translucent pink rose

katlian street in late august and a heathered black wool zip neck, too warm, carried in a curled palm

euphemism and lechery like lukewarm tea like blazing 60 degree heat like fog bank rolling in expecting welcome and receiving only up-turned hoods

i spoke to Zach about building shelving and counter with wood, he, telling me, “the moisture content of the wood will help determine what can be built”

eliason harbor in late august, a few days past year’s last minus tide

Andrew picks me up in his truck and we go out to the boat launch to launch his boat and he pulls gear in search of halibut while i stand there and take photos and sway on sea legs through my mind