Today I decided to fly away.

Someone once told me not to be brave,
to just run.

Well, she didn’t tell me –
she told Tom Hanks in that movie.
She also prayed God would make her a bird
so she could fly far away.
So I’m doing the next best thing.

The problem is
my baggage has baggage
and I get charged an overweight fee
after setting off every metal detector
and I have to explain,
“Sorry, that’s just the bullet lodged in my parietal lobe from that time when…
I’m not sure you’d understand…
He was a red-head.
Do you get it now?
I can show you my scars.
They’re all in the journals I’ve kept for the last six months.
Can you just let me on the plane?
I’ll pay the $25 if it means escaping this place
for a week
or a month
or a day
or however long it takes before I feel like running again.”

The thing is
you can’t escape your past,
it always follows you.
All you can do is turn around
and find another airport to tell your story
and maybe this time
someone will listen.

And maybe this time
it won’t just be to keep you on the ground beneath them.
It won’t just be to craft ammunition out of the trust you give
until you have to fly away from another port
and pay another fee
and reluctantly explain, another time,
“Sorry….I’ve got these bullets…”

No, maybe this time you’ll be heard
and they’ll let you fly away
but you’ll always fly back to that airport
because it’s the only one that helps you understand
what it means to fly back home.

EJZ 07.09.2015

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My legs can carry me anywhere.

Walking, lone
on a path of silver stone
in the woods of time gone by

My legs can carry me anywhere –
Up mountain tops
Look up, sun
Breathe
As tall as the trees
Looking down at the birds
balancing in the sky,
searching –
For what –
That something
somewhere
Searching
Soaring
Searching

From the west I hear their call –
I do not know but I understand
I can go and visit
Call and response
Call and response

Searching
Soaring
Searching
Something
I am
one.

Elevated
Tree tops
Mountains
Sun

To dream
To write

Wait,
Grounded
Back to Earth
I’m still here
Barefoot,
I stepped in dog shit.

My legs can carry me anywhere.

EJZ 04.19.2015

Past Tense

When crying keeps you up at night
and you can’t find your way home.

Sheets stained with nights you thought meant more,
like the words he spoke,
the flower he picked for you,
now dried out in your car –
You so carefully placed
each petal in a tiny birdcage,
hanging from the rearview;
You wanted to keep them
safe,
so delicate, fragile
inside the cage
like the one that holds your heart
(you wanted to keep it safe).

It used to make you smile
and now it makes your insides turn
faster than you used to
when you ran
from this very feeling,
heart more sour
than the stale taste of Italian pastry
left clinging to the ribbon ‘round your wrist
the one you chose to keep
there, it used to remind you
there was something
safe
for you in this world
and it was him
and it was just that,
was.

EJZ 08.28.2015

Midnight

Gazing seeking starlight mountain
Epic lonesome lifeguard ladder
No matter
which way you cut it

Upward glance and Neptune strumming Hallelujah
Airplane over
singing chorus
Midnight shore is
nothing more
on Earth could be more real
more one, more me, more this, more I, more you
are here and
where was that

you’ve gone
I sense

frozen feather heartbreak time
I wonder, wander, ask
recording
thoughts in form of melody

I had inspiration
lost in the wingspan of plane overhead
and silly God statues
holding turtles
I’ve been here before but forget when – Isn’t
it funny?

We travel in thoughts
and don’t even have to wear shoes.

EJZ 08.18.2015

This is a good poem.

Piece together the fragments of your thoughts.
Group them in relation to the spectrum
and spread them out on the coffee table.
Sprinkle
some lavender and
chamomile around
so they look good enough to settle in and seep
into someone
else’s cup.

I’ll take one look
and one swipe of my hand
and make a collage out of the puzzle pieces
you bent and snipped and burned to fit
so nicely
into your idea of Truth
and it will be more beautiful than any song you ever sang –
and that will make you run from it.

And you’ll come back kicking
and screaming
No! then
yes! then
no,
and I will hear you
but I won’t listen.

Should I have added cinnamon to make it easier to digest?
Tramadol to deny?

You see, I do things my own way
and I’d appreciate
if you’d shut the fuck up
and let me hear my own thoughts
because they sing more sweetly than your mental cacophony.

You see,
I’ve seen more corners of the Earth than you thought possible.
No, it’s not round;
In fact, it morphs
and sometimes into the shape of a gun with your finger on the trigger
but never long enough for you to shoot,
only
long enough
for me to change my point of view
and run for my life.

Then it morphs again
and my finger’s on the trigger
but I drop the gun
and let you choose
yourself.

So, I go my own way,
walk on my eyelashes
or swim through the sand
or gather up roses
and grab onto the thorns,
dig through an earthquake
and I’ll probably fall over
but let me.

I don’t want to be saved.

Because the Earth morphs
and becomes an electromagnetic platform
onto which my feet are drawn,
soles bound still to its core.

I don’t really know in which sense I meant
but maybe that’s the reason they’re spoken the same.
Maybe
our souls lie in our feet
and that is why they’re so easily soiled
and just as easily washed.

All I know is life is a choice I make every day,
a chance embraced each time I open my lungs to breathe

but I didn’t put the air in my lungs
I just chose to keep breathing.

Have you ever thought about how we keep breathing the same air through different sets of lungs but all the air we’re breathing has been breathed before?
And it never seems to run out?
And maybe
it’s the love of our lungs for the air that keeps it around?

Have you ever thought about how we write different things down,
abstract or real,
but we never run out of words?
And maybe
it’s the love of our souls for the truth that keeps
us
around?

And maybe
we’re all holding the same pen?

Have you ever started writing and taken a pause to breathe and forgotten where you were?
And you look around and everyone is carrying umbrellas
but you can’t feel the rain?
And then you realize you were just listening to “Dark Side of the Moon” on repeat for three hours
and the pen is still in your hand
and your feet
are still on the ground?

EJZ 06.26.2015