Hero
When I came out of the hole
There was no belt buckle,
Arguments or rest stops
That could save me
Nothing but soggy fries
Fallen from the carton
Wedged into the seat cushion
No signs of the dreams that
Made me feel dizzy
It seemed that the wasps
Prodding my belly had
Escaped along with my
Father, mother, sister
Who had left me alone
To stare at the tinted mirror
To see what remained of
My face
I remembered something about
The precipice.
A plateau had to be climbed first
To snatch the sun away from the
Toasty smoldering desert
I felt sweaty and stuck to the seat
Like lifesavers candies melted
To the packaging,
They could barely save themselves
I pushed the coat off my back
Covering me as I was passed out
On our way to somewhere in New Mexico
Now we were stopped at a Tex-Mex joint
By the road
And I had three yellow jackets
Hugging the side of my blood stained stomach
They were squished dead
I must have been perplexed by my victory
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
Friday, May 9, 2008
Death and The Enemy at the Ice Cream Truck??!!
Death and the Enemy
When the ice cream man rang his not so ominous bell
We came scurrying like little ravenous thieves. We
Did not worry about the finality of endings, just that
Our ice cream would melt before we finished it,
Or that the local bully would knock it from our hands
And onto the floor by our feet. He would laugh and
Point as we sobbed as if we’d lost our best friend or
A member of our family in a war to some crimson enemy,
We would not forget how he shoved us and we skinned our
Our skinny knees, yet we would recover. In adulthood, there
Are no bells to keep track of who will be left behind, no machine-
Gun, ticking time bomb or three wishes will speed their return
Little pebble flashes of memory will remind us that their chimes
Once faint and indiscernible are firecrackers going off inside of us.
And it is best that we continue to run when we hear sounds that are
Familiar to us, once again, and leave the musical change rattling in
Our pants pockets to chance,
When the ice cream man rang his not so ominous bell
We came scurrying like little ravenous thieves. We
Did not worry about the finality of endings, just that
Our ice cream would melt before we finished it,
Or that the local bully would knock it from our hands
And onto the floor by our feet. He would laugh and
Point as we sobbed as if we’d lost our best friend or
A member of our family in a war to some crimson enemy,
We would not forget how he shoved us and we skinned our
Our skinny knees, yet we would recover. In adulthood, there
Are no bells to keep track of who will be left behind, no machine-
Gun, ticking time bomb or three wishes will speed their return
Little pebble flashes of memory will remind us that their chimes
Once faint and indiscernible are firecrackers going off inside of us.
And it is best that we continue to run when we hear sounds that are
Familiar to us, once again, and leave the musical change rattling in
Our pants pockets to chance,
Pity a Ghost...
The After Life
The ghost carried me to the television
It was time for the morning news
Some sick bastard killed a young boy
And his pet bunny rabbits
I cried, being a ghost must be such a
Lonely mess.
The ghost carried me to the television
It was time for the morning news
Some sick bastard killed a young boy
And his pet bunny rabbits
I cried, being a ghost must be such a
Lonely mess.
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
Drama Under The Circus Tent...Excerpt #2
Dosage
Origins Part II: Mutations…
Was Abby-normal becoming a young freak?
Worried she would turn into a hairy beast
Perhaps, she'd one day grow an orange beak.
Would her paranoia cause her to leak?
Become that person she loved the least.
Was Abby-normal becoming a young freak?
She scavenged for a cure, a little sneak.
As young fur spread, a surprising feast.
Perhaps, one day she'd grow an orange beak.
And fly away to a sunny Martinique.
To forget her dad's slow lecture on yeast
Was Abby-normal becoming a young freak?
Or ascending barefoot the highest peaks,
The air so thin it seemed as if she'd cease.
Perhaps one day she'd grow an orange beak.
She sensed she was much more than merely geek
In her future dreams, there wasn't any peace.
Was Abby-normal becoming a young freak?
Perhaps, one day she'd grow an orange beak.
Coping
When the pharmacist lost his only wife
He thought of eating salads of colored drugs
Because his daughter knew where he hid his knife
Why had his mind become tiny like a bug?
Not a physicist or mathematician, wizard
Maybe his affair was with a magic rug.
And wished he stuck out tongues like a lizard
Or was fried pulling out his sockets plug
Abby-normal spread out her massive arms
To hug her weary father's chemical disgrace
Only the great cement mixer spoon calmed
A face stomped upon by apoplexy
Would there be another love that felt like lace?
He cut toes with scissors and healed with balm.
As if it never happened…
The next day she would be forced to return to school
And avoid the prying eyes of her judging peers
She'd have to quickly learn how to play the fool.
She was too old to hide behind the monkey bars
Could she leap inside her favorite ancient stories
Like the melancholy clown stuck in tiny cars
Her life seemed like one a long word problem
Was she chosen to peel away their veneer?
Solving if she could only tear apart the stem.
In history, she took out her composition book
America's story would say what she could not
Her father was not an adulterous crook.
He'd love her even if she was a wild thing
Without the aid of camouflage's secret shroud
Would nets catch her if she flew off
The swing?
The Correct Dosage?
It seemed her dad was heretical
When it came to swallowing chemicals.
When his eyes began to glaze over
It was best to just roll him over
And make sure he drank some water
Before his mind went to slaughter.
She tried to be a helpful daughter
Before adolescence had caught her
Yet here she was forced to be both
Mother and child as if they both
Had been blown from their mild life
Not realizing what caused their strife.
She squeezed black rags over his head
And pulled him from now soaked beds
Waking him with smelling salts power
And she then dragged him to showers.
What could she conjure to provide his cure?
She'd use a fishing rod and a lure,
To catch what they needed to find with hoe
Maybe, sell snake oil, put on a show
To make them forget their troubles
Until they stopped seeing doubles
What was on her little chin, some stubble?
She did not even want to know…
Micah Zevin 2007...
Origins Part II: Mutations…
Was Abby-normal becoming a young freak?
Worried she would turn into a hairy beast
Perhaps, she'd one day grow an orange beak.
Would her paranoia cause her to leak?
Become that person she loved the least.
Was Abby-normal becoming a young freak?
She scavenged for a cure, a little sneak.
As young fur spread, a surprising feast.
Perhaps, one day she'd grow an orange beak.
And fly away to a sunny Martinique.
To forget her dad's slow lecture on yeast
Was Abby-normal becoming a young freak?
Or ascending barefoot the highest peaks,
The air so thin it seemed as if she'd cease.
Perhaps one day she'd grow an orange beak.
She sensed she was much more than merely geek
In her future dreams, there wasn't any peace.
Was Abby-normal becoming a young freak?
Perhaps, one day she'd grow an orange beak.
Coping
When the pharmacist lost his only wife
He thought of eating salads of colored drugs
Because his daughter knew where he hid his knife
Why had his mind become tiny like a bug?
Not a physicist or mathematician, wizard
Maybe his affair was with a magic rug.
And wished he stuck out tongues like a lizard
Or was fried pulling out his sockets plug
Abby-normal spread out her massive arms
To hug her weary father's chemical disgrace
Only the great cement mixer spoon calmed
A face stomped upon by apoplexy
Would there be another love that felt like lace?
He cut toes with scissors and healed with balm.
As if it never happened…
The next day she would be forced to return to school
And avoid the prying eyes of her judging peers
She'd have to quickly learn how to play the fool.
She was too old to hide behind the monkey bars
Could she leap inside her favorite ancient stories
Like the melancholy clown stuck in tiny cars
Her life seemed like one a long word problem
Was she chosen to peel away their veneer?
Solving if she could only tear apart the stem.
In history, she took out her composition book
America's story would say what she could not
Her father was not an adulterous crook.
He'd love her even if she was a wild thing
Without the aid of camouflage's secret shroud
Would nets catch her if she flew off
The swing?
The Correct Dosage?
It seemed her dad was heretical
When it came to swallowing chemicals.
When his eyes began to glaze over
It was best to just roll him over
And make sure he drank some water
Before his mind went to slaughter.
She tried to be a helpful daughter
Before adolescence had caught her
Yet here she was forced to be both
Mother and child as if they both
Had been blown from their mild life
Not realizing what caused their strife.
She squeezed black rags over his head
And pulled him from now soaked beds
Waking him with smelling salts power
And she then dragged him to showers.
What could she conjure to provide his cure?
She'd use a fishing rod and a lure,
To catch what they needed to find with hoe
Maybe, sell snake oil, put on a show
To make them forget their troubles
Until they stopped seeing doubles
What was on her little chin, some stubble?
She did not even want to know…
Micah Zevin 2007...
Friday, June 22, 2007
Drama Under The Circus Tent!!??( novel in verse in progress)
Dosage
Before the Lights Part I:
Once she was normal
Then she was Abby-normal
She used to do cart wheels
And flips in the park by
Her father the pharmacist
He'd hand men a pill which
Would remove their cyst.
Before the hair invaded
She didn't suffer melancholia
Just traded it in for paranoia
She didn't raise her loving fist
Until she passed the sixth grade
Daddy said it was the fault of
Chemicals molding her clay
For the rest of her life he forbade
Violence's shrinking head near
His home unless no night or day
Persisted anymore to sway.
We are humans, not swinging
From ropes like circus performers
We should all have hearts of mourners
She knew if this hair made her insane
God knows what would be her refrain
So she shaved off her hair each day
Sneaking home from school a different
Way.
On a Tight Rope…
Momma was cheating on Daddy with the
Refrigerator repairman
She shouted for the whole town to hear,
You're not a real man.
The child she smirked is not even mine
Do you think dear husband I crossed a line?
You must have had some tawdry affair
Your little freakish brat I did not bare.
She stared at her father with muted eyes
He responded with sadness deep
It appeared he might take a leap.
Instead, He snarled a quip.
Look honey bunch, she has your lip.
If you try to scar her with your nomadic fever
I will take to with a clever
Just because you are losing your marbles
Do not dare scar your child
Whatever I have done she has done no harm.
There, there, husband her lies your charms
You are a martyr's disgrace
Hidden behind a younger face
At least I try to repair what has not been fixed,
He said; I don't get up and quit.
At this she laughed hiding a sniffles guilty sound
The repairman's car door was open
Is was time to cross the bridge Daddy made her turn around
He did not want her to stare at the lostWhat he had never found.
Origins Part I: A Betrayal?
Abby-normal ran home fast
She hoped her tears would last
Her mother had become another
Monster freak show demon housewife?
She hoped her tears would last
Memories might erode like the beach
Monster freak demon housewife?
Would dad burn her photographs?
Memories might erode like the beach
He'd say, this was never your mother
Just an elitist boutique store clerk
In search of quick aphrodisiac fixes
He locked the pictures in his diary,
His love was touched by addiction
In search of quick aphrodisiac fixes
To hallucinate a reality of choice
His love was touched by addiction
Or branded by a fetishistic affliction?
He'd always been curious of alternatives
Changing colors like dye in a quilt
He'd always been curious of alternatives
Her mother had become another's lust
Changing colors like dye in a quilt
So Abby-normal ran home fast.
Part 1 with more to come of my novel in verse in progress. Look out for what comes next in the Drama Under the Circus Tent. Has anyone taken the correct dosage here?
Micah Zevin 2007
Before the Lights Part I:
Once she was normal
Then she was Abby-normal
She used to do cart wheels
And flips in the park by
Her father the pharmacist
He'd hand men a pill which
Would remove their cyst.
Before the hair invaded
She didn't suffer melancholia
Just traded it in for paranoia
She didn't raise her loving fist
Until she passed the sixth grade
Daddy said it was the fault of
Chemicals molding her clay
For the rest of her life he forbade
Violence's shrinking head near
His home unless no night or day
Persisted anymore to sway.
We are humans, not swinging
From ropes like circus performers
We should all have hearts of mourners
She knew if this hair made her insane
God knows what would be her refrain
So she shaved off her hair each day
Sneaking home from school a different
Way.
On a Tight Rope…
Momma was cheating on Daddy with the
Refrigerator repairman
She shouted for the whole town to hear,
You're not a real man.
The child she smirked is not even mine
Do you think dear husband I crossed a line?
You must have had some tawdry affair
Your little freakish brat I did not bare.
She stared at her father with muted eyes
He responded with sadness deep
It appeared he might take a leap.
Instead, He snarled a quip.
Look honey bunch, she has your lip.
If you try to scar her with your nomadic fever
I will take to with a clever
Just because you are losing your marbles
Do not dare scar your child
Whatever I have done she has done no harm.
There, there, husband her lies your charms
You are a martyr's disgrace
Hidden behind a younger face
At least I try to repair what has not been fixed,
He said; I don't get up and quit.
At this she laughed hiding a sniffles guilty sound
The repairman's car door was open
Is was time to cross the bridge Daddy made her turn around
He did not want her to stare at the lostWhat he had never found.
Origins Part I: A Betrayal?
Abby-normal ran home fast
She hoped her tears would last
Her mother had become another
Monster freak show demon housewife?
She hoped her tears would last
Memories might erode like the beach
Monster freak demon housewife?
Would dad burn her photographs?
Memories might erode like the beach
He'd say, this was never your mother
Just an elitist boutique store clerk
In search of quick aphrodisiac fixes
He locked the pictures in his diary,
His love was touched by addiction
In search of quick aphrodisiac fixes
To hallucinate a reality of choice
His love was touched by addiction
Or branded by a fetishistic affliction?
He'd always been curious of alternatives
Changing colors like dye in a quilt
He'd always been curious of alternatives
Her mother had become another's lust
Changing colors like dye in a quilt
So Abby-normal ran home fast.
Part 1 with more to come of my novel in verse in progress. Look out for what comes next in the Drama Under the Circus Tent. Has anyone taken the correct dosage here?
Micah Zevin 2007
Tuesday, June 19, 2007
Between a Nightmare and a Dream
Pillows and Knives
Are the feathers from pillows bringing him down?
He treaded over hot coals with the softest frown
With the crickets insistent dialogue he’d begin to sneeze
His tears were emasculated by the tentative breeze
He liked to climb to tops of tents and reflect on Northern Stars
Wouldn’t be better off if he really came from Mars?
Why does he assume his anger is wrong?
Brewing beneath surface fumes among the angry throngs
When he sharpened his favorite knives
He’d wondered how he should live out one of his nine lives
Would majesty spring forth as the bees were creating honey in the hives
Droning on and on to a queen who dominated their lives
He said he would disregard the noise and watch out for spies
Until you have no use for my watchful eyes
Late at night he could not sleep so he chopped some vegetables
And wondered why routine business trips could be so illegible
Sometimes it felt as if life was an inconsequential comedy sketch
He heard comedy was hard but could it make you wretch
If he could magically write a masterpiece
He’d revise spring and make it his new disgrace
He met a guy at a workshop who called him a writing schizoid
He told him it’s just a character so don’t be so paranoid
No, he said, I mean cut through the crap
Get to the prime meat, sharpen our senses with a fitful slap
Micah Zevin 2007
Are the feathers from pillows bringing him down?
He treaded over hot coals with the softest frown
With the crickets insistent dialogue he’d begin to sneeze
His tears were emasculated by the tentative breeze
He liked to climb to tops of tents and reflect on Northern Stars
Wouldn’t be better off if he really came from Mars?
Why does he assume his anger is wrong?
Brewing beneath surface fumes among the angry throngs
When he sharpened his favorite knives
He’d wondered how he should live out one of his nine lives
Would majesty spring forth as the bees were creating honey in the hives
Droning on and on to a queen who dominated their lives
He said he would disregard the noise and watch out for spies
Until you have no use for my watchful eyes
Late at night he could not sleep so he chopped some vegetables
And wondered why routine business trips could be so illegible
Sometimes it felt as if life was an inconsequential comedy sketch
He heard comedy was hard but could it make you wretch
If he could magically write a masterpiece
He’d revise spring and make it his new disgrace
He met a guy at a workshop who called him a writing schizoid
He told him it’s just a character so don’t be so paranoid
No, he said, I mean cut through the crap
Get to the prime meat, sharpen our senses with a fitful slap
Micah Zevin 2007
Tuesday, June 12, 2007
A Bearded Lady Dreams?...
Selected Memories, or Storytelling...
I am trying to stink up something to right
Was the lion tamer kidnapped in the night?
You have been wronged by many a dirty sponge
If there is treasure before you, why don't you lunge?
In a dream, you have a drink with your writer friends
You tire of their babble, their triteness offends
Yet they were transparent or never really present
They did not have the beauty of a mumbling pheasant,
The circus strong man's most favored companion
What inspired him to become a vegetarian
Only the circus librarian had no one to love
Cloistered in his bibliotheque frowning from above
Where were the "Bearded Lady's" famed talking doves
She'd open her hands and they'd fly off her gloves
Each time one could see tears in her eyes
Her faces carried the weariness of many surviving lies
At the end of her act, she lost her repose
Heaving at the audience a bag of clown noses
Now everyone looked like the clown she hated
She used to love him when he'd been caught and baited
She dreamt that she had died on top of big red feet
or had been visited by a troop of ghostly sheets
The "Bearded Lady" thought of her blind father
She wanted to erase all that had faltered...
Micah Zevin 2007
...Stories from the circus tent
I am trying to stink up something to right
Was the lion tamer kidnapped in the night?
You have been wronged by many a dirty sponge
If there is treasure before you, why don't you lunge?
In a dream, you have a drink with your writer friends
You tire of their babble, their triteness offends
Yet they were transparent or never really present
They did not have the beauty of a mumbling pheasant,
The circus strong man's most favored companion
What inspired him to become a vegetarian
Only the circus librarian had no one to love
Cloistered in his bibliotheque frowning from above
Where were the "Bearded Lady's" famed talking doves
She'd open her hands and they'd fly off her gloves
Each time one could see tears in her eyes
Her faces carried the weariness of many surviving lies
At the end of her act, she lost her repose
Heaving at the audience a bag of clown noses
Now everyone looked like the clown she hated
She used to love him when he'd been caught and baited
She dreamt that she had died on top of big red feet
or had been visited by a troop of ghostly sheets
The "Bearded Lady" thought of her blind father
She wanted to erase all that had faltered...
Micah Zevin 2007
...Stories from the circus tent
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