Poem#24:The Massage Parlor: My back has potholes...PoetryMonthApril..

The Massage Parlor

my back has potholes
squeeze with feet and fists rub oils
exit work blues clues
is a fart a beautiful sound
await my release...

Micah Zevin 2010

The Sardine Can: Poem #22 and Poem #23: At The Hotel

The Sardine Can or Subterranean

peel the can back slow
take out crack pipes hide in smoke
everything dies swarmed
open sesame no exit
fool I was here first

At The Hotel

the black dress confess
do pests wear old lady vests
mess with the mess less
blame psycho in the mirror
check out prophecies

by Micah Zevin 2010

Incentives: Poem#21 April is Poetry Month...hi ho!

"Incentives"

Underlings like things
money carries shiny snacks
nap sacks to eat
we long for praise and patience
we crack toes and wait

by Micah Zevin 2010

Poem#20: From The Top...AprilisPoetryMonth

From The Top

rhapsody in spew
at the consolation of thieves
where reprieve means shit
lecture moles and sheep with heat
they will gasp and hurl

by Micah Zevin 2010

Giant Tanka: Poem#19: 'The Looking Glass' AprilisPoetryMonthproject

'The Looking Glass'

i walk the ocean floor
in venom black underwear
ready to spread ink
onto vultures beaks at dawn
i have tossed my turn

why remember dreams?
to make fetish past peep-holes?
in still waters we drown
just as we live with the fishes
all is alarming

i peel back sardine cans
and watch my father cry hunger
at palates assault
he's not mystified by loss
just disappointed

The blame blindfolds me
and places me in freezers
at the butcher shop
I opened her diary
It bore through me fast

when shiny new pans
attack will knives follow too?
wear baseball helmets
as darts shoot from her eyes
see my reflections

by Micah Zevin 2010

"Dead Again" ( butthistimeforreal: A tribute to Pete Steele of TypeONegative

"Dead Again": A Tribute to Pete Steele, lead singer of Type O Negative...

With sharp teeth of steel
you sang to night your demons,
romance's, many sweeth deaths.
Kisses were not just bloody in
the mind or dominated by October
Rust. They left an impression,
the mark of keys opening hill tops
reserved for some Nordic gods on
their way to the heavens.
If your heart failed it was not
because your heart was a failure.
Your fingers knew the right strings
to pick...

by Micah Zevin 2010

RIP Pete Steele of Type O Negative

Poem #17: Through the Storm: AprilisPoetryMonth...

Through the storm

Umbrellas shatter
I am wet and done
Spellbound by surrounding pools
I watch birds scatter
I smell the sewage...

by Micah Zevin 2010

Transformation(s): Oil in the Ocean: Poem #16-April is Poetry Month

Transformations

her plumage lost sheen
when she fell in the black vat
there was two more eyes
and a longer neck rose above
branches to view what was never...

by Micah Zevin 2010

Hallucinations: Poem #15 April is Poetry Month-See it and Believe!

Hallucinations

i miss the boat house
by inches in my sailboat
I live in the breeze
and breathe with gills like a fish
Now, I am not here...

by Micah Zevin 2010

With Time: Poem # 14 April is Poetry Month

With Time

we are not round
dip us in dirt and sunshine
we will not wither
unless you forget we grow
or shrivel into dust...

by Micah Zevin 2010

AmericanTanka#13: In the Air: Inspired by the Polish Gov't plan crash.

In The Air...

in the plane a fly
gets into the pilot's ear
as he skims the trees
He thinks about the government
They are together...

by Micah Zevin 2010

The Food Court: Another Tanka Poem #12

The Food Court

in the maze of food
she searches for hamburgers
when she feels thick as a brick
it clears her minds fried debris
There's no room to fill...

by Micah Zevin 2010

The Mood Swing:Yet Another Tanka...Poem #11 April is Poetry Month:

The Mood Swing

while lying on couch
tears of anger shoot inside
as reality show
exclamations pelt with stones
I let my wounds bleed

Micah Zevin 2010

Poem #10 Creation: A Tanka

Creation

at secret harbors
nets catch newly born children
fisherman blubber
and smoke cigarettes deeply
as each leave the womb

by Micah Zevin 2010

American Tanka#9-"In Springtime" AprilisPoetryMonth-Onthespotpoems

In Spring Time

missing the winter
like yearning to be roasted
sun makes us vampires
and allergies sweats out eyes
she speaks to butterflies

by Micah Zevin 2010

In Virginia 2010 Poem #9 Political Tanka Outrage...ApriPoetryMonthPoems...

In Virginia, 2010

your flag not a flag
just guns lynching history
not a confederacy
dunces and bigots drink tea?

Micah Zevin 2010

Another American Tanka: First Weekend: Poem#8 AprilisPoetryMonth poem a day

First Weekend

on the dry town beach
suitcases of wine and cheese
no honeymoon sleep
in flames at bed and breakfast
acting like no one else

by Micah Zevin 2010

A Kind of American Tanka: April is Poetry Month #7

Honking Horns at Midnight

wearing big snow boots
new years in new york city
i kissed your lips hard
under tents next to old men
you asked my desire...

by Micah Zevin 2010

Brought into Question (or Negative Balance) Poem #6 April is Poetry Month Project

Brought Into Question

When you crawl out of my pockets
And shrivel up, green autumn leaves
In my sweaty palms, I remember the
Spring just began its ascent into our
Consciousness.

You have become blunted, dulled after
Too much use in the field, shredded to
Tiny bits as I suffer from days grinding
Beat box where explanations are heard
And often misunderstood

As if they were guitar feedback noise
Thrashed into already overstuffed eardrums
Popped as you sink into amplifiers
Transform into treble, bass and gain
And think about what separates the minus sign

From the plus sign, and what it means
To go over and under and back again,
Your own personal Dow Jones crash landing,
Barely a penny held between forefinger and thumb
Used to strum

For once shiny copper, silver luminescence thrown
Into your hat as you hum a melody and
Gather them into your coffers, whether damaged
By stain of dirt, gum and grime or mailed to a
Collector who cares little for sentiment,

How you’d be lost in my wallet if I didn’t
Pull you out of your white paper trap
Of receipts, business cards and stamps
And into the light where you will soon
Vanish again…

by Micah Zevin 2010

Kill or be Killed: A theoretical exercise...Poem #5 April is Poetry Month on the Spot Project.

Murder for Dummies...

If I pelt you with stones
do you not lye unconscious
and helpless on the pavement
in the mall parking lot. If
I tie you to cash registers
and blindfold you so you
cannot identify me or see
where I traveled can you not
still nudge red alarm buttons
with knee caps? If I shoot
you between the eyes, in the
head, in the gut, and display
of toy robots knocks me to
the ground and buries me
until the cops arrive to
take me away, aren't you
still dead? If I order you to take
off your clothes so I can wear
them and appear to be an employee
will anyone notice you are missing
and save you from further trauma
or humiliation at my villainous
hands. If the answer to any or all
is yes, you could be my next victim.

by Micah Zevin 2010

TMI: (Too Much Information) April is Poetry month on the spot poetry #4

TMI (Too Much Information)

No, I don't want to see your tattoo
south of your brassiers border which
is a picture of George Bush with the
tongue of a snake where if you move
your junk the 'right way' the tongue
moves. No, I don't want to know about
how you use welfare checks to by lessons
on how to be Japanese, where you wear
kimonos and drink vats of saki you ordered
off the internet. No, I don't want know
about it every time a celebrity has multiple
affairs or how you have every sensational
headline taped to your ceiling so they will
be in your dreams. And definitely I don't
want to know about your crush on the local
homeless man who spends all day on his laptop
writing you love letters and smells like
rotten bannana peels. Lastly, I don't need
to hear about or visualize your sexual exploits
from your motorcycle days of yore or that all
of your six husbands wore your underwear on
their heads while playing the fiddle. Please,
please, please I am not being uptight! You are
not my wife, friend, lover. Tell your stories
to someone else who will care to listen, as
entertaining as they are, they are much more
than I will ever care to learn
about anyone...

by Micah Zevin 2010

April is Poetry month on the spot poetry project #3

On Vacation: Poem #3

I gasped as I ran
down neverending stairs
because I was going to miss
my flight and be stranded
at one of those fast food
restaurants that charged
you so much because they
knew you had no choice
and would have to pick
one of them.
But I was stubborn and
waiting for the woman
with the tussled hair
to call my name. I would
no more empty my pockets
and be broke due to such
travesties of consumption.
I would rather starve,
wake up later bloated
set to open my dam into
the sea. Why is life so
petty and incomprehensible
it would slight me and try
to erase dreams or bury them
under a succession of ten pound
sand bag eyes until I could not
breathe, or reach out to punch
off the alarm clock in an early
morning frenzy of irritability.
I did not want to live out of
my suitcase indefinitely or even
for a moment, yet I was tired
of pointing the insane masses
to the right terminal.
As they rambled on, I would offer
barely a phrase, except for
a sheepish smile and a grunt into
the sullied air. I was infected by the
presence of strangers and would be
for some time after...
by Micah Zevin 2010

Poem #2 April is Poetry Month Poetry on the spot project....

Poem # 2: In The Backyard

As I slither into your garden under sleeping
Lawnmowers, rubber balls, swimming pools,
I look for a hole to call home, a place of warmth
Away from neighborhood lights where worms
Squirms and toss and turn in the moist earth.
And I listen to their snores, come hither sounds
Meant to disrupt the flow of time at grounds end.
Before bed I crawl out and watch squirrels climb
The trees branches above to hoard their nuts, the
Crickets pounce on other insects for sustenance,
The lightning bugs turn themselves off and on
Again and again fluttering above the many fences,
And for once I don’t recoil in hopelessness and
Dismay as darkness sets in and all that is left is
Stars, humans and I up watching late night
Movies until we pass out in the beds of our
Own making….

by Micah Zevin 2010

April is Poetry Month Poetry Project Poem # 1....

Poem #1

On the days precipice candles are lit
As we yawn and recite our prayers
Into blankets at the foot of our beds.
What is warmth if not an invitation to
Seclusion and reverie?
In our dreams we trample over our wishes
And lament at what we can no longer possess
Or have never gotten in the first place.
Here we are simply projecting onto others images
Our grandest wishes, our worst fears,
As we wait for them to speak or whisper into
Our ears what we want to hear
And if we don’t wake in a pool of our
Own sweat and jump up as if a robber
Were breaking in or climbing through our
Window, an incomprehensible emptiness
Replaces the tears running down our cheeks
Because we cannot remember where we’ve been
Only where we wanted to go before the sun rises…

by Micah Zevin 2010

Bass Sol Take V: Hey What happened to the first 4 takes man? Well...

Bass Solo Take V

Extinguish flames from exhaust pipes
Smash horizontal mannequins right
Between the eyes when they refuse
To come home with you and submit
To your wildest fantastical whims.
Take the blowtorch out of the garage
And some clay and multicolored paint;
You are tired of others telling you
How people should be and want to
Construct your own Pinocchio, Cyborg,
Human being out of its silent wooden pieces,
Until there is a glimmer in its eye
You’ve never seen before.
And then, just when it seems ready to
Speak, move its arms, ask you for your name,
You plug in your saw and start to saw as it
Screams, cries and bleeds chips, as if it just
Learned how to, until it is a silent
Pile of dust, and you are in its way again
While its remains blow in the wind,
Your Frankenstein monster…

by Micah Zevin 2010

Meditations on Past Situations....a crazy hellyeah yeehaw to everyone!

On the mountain

The crows gnaw on my knuckles because they smell
Like Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups and I’m wearing boxers
As I rock in my imaginary chair while I mull over my metropolis
The boy smoking pot over trashcan fires is staring at me
As if to test my mettle…

Bloated as a wild boar I snort at him until he offers me some,
Addressing me as ‘old dude’ as I sit on newly painted park benches
Where I went to escape oozy’s blasts of water, boomerang Frisbees
That hit me in the noggin, or the onslaught of acorns when I was in
Elementary school and it was recess.

I ask this boy as he smokes a “doobie’ why he isn’t in school,
I see the school principal and quickly tell him to hide under
The park bench so that he doesn’t get caught. “Is that you Jerome.?”
She asks, as I rise…”No,” I say, “It’s me George…
Do you remember me?”

Even basketballs would give me concussions until I developed speed
After being on the track team for a while. Now, sometimes, I am slow,
Even doddering sentimental ‘numb nut,’ as the crows point at me, laugh and eat what’s left of a dead squirrel,
Even its bushy tale.

I remind myself there is no such thing as an “Age of Innocence,”
Only moments in time where wicked sites and sounds
Attach themselves to throats like honey
And bare fruit…

by Micah Zevin 2009

Off The Cuff? Guns at Star*******

Unfiltered

I took out my gun in starbucks. It's time
To hunt some latte drinking smucks or should i with holster by my side join in for a muffin and a conversation about literature, diversity, controversy oh no not me! I am just practicing my right to bear arms then no one will question
My charms. Oh my precious why is the world so viscious forever testing my mettle. I dream of bloody rose petals and your silver gods killing my dinner
Maybe a yuppie or two,just kidding, how can I get you to do my bidding? I can look right down yr barrel without fear encountering those different from myself. I am poltically correct to a fault. Instead of commenting on your race or religion I call u a communist a socialist liberal devil and leave other judgements to the heavens...

Micah Zevin 2010

Dying for Accpetance .....

Dying for Acceptance

Don’t you poke poke poke me in the face
Or I will go gaga wah wah all over you
Until you are surrounded by my insurmountable tears
Ducts releasing there cloistered moisture

Onto your jumbo black cat umbrella riding
Rivers sewage down Broadway’s brassier
Another bad romance lit by a sea of blights
And nothing is ruled by time (simultaneously)

Clock the clock over the head and put your ambitions
To bed at the pillowcase factory on the back alley
Side streets where cats fight in front of apartment
Complexes over a sleeping bums half eaten slice of
Pepperoni pizza

It is easy to be dismissive about another’s failure
And not your own during such moments there
Down denial is cluttered with syringes and the
Bodies they have touched so unceremoniously

When you are stuck, you are like a piece of gum
Some junior high school boy has angrily squished
Under his desk or on the empty seat next to him
Waiting for whom he certainly knows will sit in it

For cheap laughter or some unexplained vengeance…
by Micah Zevin 2010

In Transit...(in the underground?)

In Transit

The spasms are cold as they crawl up
The ridges of our spines…
In the tunnels the behemoth
Waits like a scourge in the timeless world
The sardines, punch lines in an old joke,
Peel back their metal tops and breathe
Before they go bad if they have not already
Elbows, knees, assorted arms splay on top
Of one another as fatigue overpowers the senses
Decaying flesh talks like robotic Peanuts characters
On the loud speaker and we don’t listen
Until the news is tragic because lamentations
Are so natural; murder hard attack, bomb squad
And these loose moving parts quit there
Unauthorized or hapless touching as we are moving
The slowest building guitar solos
Anticipating crescendos of shake and rattle
Snapping of our most precious strings
Until we are home and turning on our lighters
Reserved for the soothing ballad that
Helps us all justify our stint with snipers in the mountains
Of the desert, our beds made of fire…

By Micah Zevin 2010....Happy New Year fellow poets and writers....