Complexes (The Modern Condition#+++always occupied with itself....)

I pop lozenges like they were Xanax. I am not a phallic symbol (cymbal?). At work, when I point fingers I am statuesque and somnambulant and intuitive. I clean myself in the staff bathroom as if I’d been exposed or inflicted with germ warfare. I am a zombie so in order to think properly his/her/your brain (unseen forces) must be consumed, even if inadequate or tainted or mangled in some way, because I will never be satiated, satisfied so it will never conclude until you chop off my head as if I was some kind of many pronged modern digitized Medusa. I only drink tea on the slim chance that the crumbled leaves will offer me some wisdom about paradoxes, dilemma’s that have become inscrutable to me in the face of advertisements, chemical dependence, economic anxiety. Maybe, as a result of being resistant to suggestion and easily distracted (ADD)by shiny sexy things it is difficult to form a sentence or some sporadic revisionist poetic histories and click send click send, impatience praying like/to some kind of literary/illiterate living gods…. by Micah Zevin 2011

Projections or Projectiles....Occupied...my blog reborn one year later...

Projections or projectiles…? (Occupied)

Am I free? I’m not free. What’s free mean anyway?
Putting your snout in the trough with the other
assembled pigs at feeding time until the whistle
blows and it is time to go. Sitting on the couch
in a trance, watch DVR programs and cablevision
while the debt mounts and the bills go unpaid.
Nothing is free in this world excerpt or not even
your anguish at foreclosing, being homeless,
forget about not even accomplishing your goals,
living up to the standards of your parents, your wife,
your children yet to be born. Do I have time to be
forlorn when I can’t get what I need and feed the
blood of my fortune beholden to your expectations,
your disappointments, your apparitions?

by Micah Zevin November 2011....folks

My blog Reborn ha ha ha ha lol! read on if you dare....

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