Saturday, January 13, 2018

caught in the well
















It cannot sleep
Too much thinking
In the dark corridors
Of a misguided complicity
A direction that wavers a still hand
Like a falling maple leaf in the promised land

A stroke in secret
A flame in denial
The shadows stretch their long arms
And water the fields of desperation
Pink tahini yellow or brown
Tall short skinny or stubby
No one is satisfied with our skin
if blood remains the same to begin

Dopamine amphetamine margarine
Dosage of venom grease your eyes
Hope magic and miracles
Are wishes nowhere to be found
When the bones ache as temperature falls
And age is a race against expectation
Expiration date labeled on the inside
Of the vessel waiting to sail off
Into the mist of our bearing forefathers

Midnight dry-eyed drowsy drops
Down a sink hole unable to slow down
Autistic sheets are not dumb
If they hold the spirit to talk
And expose the sanity of my walls
as they hang fragments savored in moments
of colors framed in patterns unfettered  
in a void controlled only by chances

when the music stops
salutations to the sun commence
with its rays waking up the bare trees
a harmony of early light it caresses
gentle whispers that cuddle beside you
with a sweet voice that slumbers within
to drown your fear
of never waking up


if blood remains the same

Monday, December 11, 2017

Late Knéfé


The chest is exhausted from the sativa suit he wore the other night. A body in fatigue avec slow breath. Alcohol blood stains the kidney stones purple. A bacterial infection also comes from stardust. Fester Saturday seems quite holy. A brother fills up a cup of jasmine only to smoke another ghost sensibly. Flushed in sugar syrup sesame cheese. A brunch considered occasional. Far from the notion of home the whistle blows jazzy trumpet rhythm mellow. Reebok rubber stains the parquet of autumn. A familiar taste of haagendazs chocolate fuels hope. She takes off her robe gracefully in early November until chills prick the tender pink skin of a winter approaching.


27.10.17

Monday, November 13, 2017

the visitor












They call it planetary
It is utterly ordinary
Posthumans or replicants
Does it matter?

French talk blade runner
Sci-fi noir or a dystopia
on this cold October midday?
An exhausted shadow
Lurks in his inner langue

Le nuage moderne
Ces’t une image cosmique
Sans forme et sans periode
Une etoile fillante en plein air
Elle coupe le ciel docile
Avec la force d’amour
Qui provoque la vie ou le vide
Je ne sais quoi

Ces choses sentimentales
Ils construisent un espace de rien
Mais encore des images qui hantent

Et qui traversent le temps sublime

ZS 31-10-17

Tuesday, October 10, 2017

Dove White











A final reminder of your smell
lies in what remains of this bar of soap
that has melted time and passion
into its soft mediterranean skin
Gushing
vanilla-eucalyptus

A stimulating incense triggers
this infusion of jojoba kisses
missed
A token of its moist & careless seduction
steams these bathroom walls once inhibited
Now nostalgic
to its washed away existence

A final reminder of your smile
lies in what remains of this bit of soap
that has scrubbed off lies & deceit
while it has nourished your appetite
for squander & wanderlust

a transient reminder a bubble                          a wet reminiscence  

Monday, October 2, 2017

Newton Saturday

No control over your center
A forward motion in infinity
Light a constant speed rushing
Seldom relative to your emotion

Mass creates unnoticed tension
Shifting your space and time

Continuum

Trapped in a black hole
In a web of altered conception


We drown.


Wednesday, September 27, 2017

Disenchanted Orange


sunset jogger evening light
a reefer sparked burns slow
feet rush free
blue meets yellow
man in a Tee-surely vitamin water
fire hydrant smooth tap
crowds gather
clouds obscure
perspective disenchanted
rough skin fades
a strange predicament
a dim reflection
a challenge to orange


ZS 26.9.2017

Wednesday, September 20, 2017

Just because














I write because I dream
I dream because it’s my nature
To capture a picture -- a perception
When inspiration comes in letters warm
Flood colors and words that storm
A journey into the unreal
A cosmos of a transient appeal

I write because I dream
I dream because I like to phase out
And blow like a light zephyr in early springtime
And watch myself cool off
Slow down the friction before you catch fire
Before you burn into ashes of forgotten desire
Without answers that make any sense

I write because I dream
It is my personal space to beam
Out ---annoying and troubling thoughts
as the mind rushes into knots
When loneliness has been put to the test
And friendship has returned to its nest
& love once again has been chosen to rest

I write just because... 


Z.S. 6-7-17