“I am not writing the poem; I am just holding the pen.”

As troubles bring you down and darkness follows,
Perpetual blindness where once you thought you saw,
Know that you are not alone.

There is a voice speaking and it calls your name
in the middle of the night,
if you dream and wake gently,
sit long enough to remember,
It sighs
and whispers,
flowing like a river
and calls, waiting
for the small of your back to make contact,
float silent,
water not too cool, too warm,
tepid, somewhere in the middle,
so you lay your head down,
let it carry you
and just when you think
time has grown wrinkled and tired,
no longer in your favor,
a hand passes over your face,
and that voice sings lullaby,
Spirit rocks to sleep

Olive tree drops branch you never noticed.

To step without looking

To know you will not fall.

“You are not finished,” voice says.

There are words in your bones.
There are thoughts in your head that are not your own –
They are the kind ones you never listen to –
They are the true ones you never speak –
Your time is borrowed
Your blood is the river.
Float on, float on

God is writing –
pick up the pen.

EJZ 02.18.2016

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I am a love addict.

and that may sound romantic
but it’s a torturous hell
and my heart and my life
are an endless, bottomless cavern
that cannot be filled.
Never enough to be quenched, my thirst.

You know, you can’t hold water in your hands
but you try and you try
to form yourself in such a way
to become a vial, yourself
and you’re vile, yourself
but you can’t tell
because all your mirrors are broken
and you can’t see yourself
in the water you’re still trying to contain in your hands –
the ones that couldn’t grasp to begin with
because you think it’s your life force,
your
all that’s left on Earth
and you forget the fountain you strayed from
before you set out on your quest for that unattainable goal
which had you scrambling through mazes and missions and conquests, untenable
and you dropped your key from your back pocket
and it drowned in the water
which slipped through your hands
as you desperately tried to contain it
and friction won’t help
and frantic slits throats
and stupefies –
Losing your head
in the water,
slipping through hands
like time on the shore
and nobody told you
the power was not in the key,
in the water,
it was in you
but you had to let go to find out
and then you find out
there never was water,
just hope
and your hands couldn’t grasp what they never felt
so you’re left empty, forlorn

but there is a fountain

still water,
contained,
the key, floating
and yours
if you choose to look in
and grasp
and say –

I am a love addict
and that may sound romantic
but it’s a torturous hell.

EJZ 09.17.2015

I hold your book in my hands –
weightless.
The edges become my fingertips;
The binding, my tendons,
The creases in pages,
the riverbeds of my palms.
I imagine your eyes
when they read these words before,
processed language to thought to meaning
to discover what I have yet to see.
I smell the coffee-stained pages, you
become part of my lungs.
I feel you wrap around me, warm,
tracing marks left on pages
left for me.
Separated only by a space we call distance,
bound together by what are now my tendons,
touching pages,
whispering words
you’ve written on my hands
for me to see
and remember,
with this book
I am never alone.

EJZ 05.09.2015

Serial Monogamy

Passionate love affair notoriety
Fall in love too fast,
too hard,
too long,
just the way I like it.

Inside crying ambiguity
I left for home,
stopped along and forgot
my destination
long passed,
my past.

Ask me about my scars.
No worries, I’ll be vague –
Too much weight to carry
so I’ll do it myself.

Verily, verily
we roll along –
Tout-suite –
clapping
drums never played

Spit out the hand that never fed you.
Truth be told,
No matter –
it was only yours
Truth be told,
who needed it anyway, yours?

Give freely
Love wholly
Fall quickly
Cry once.

EJZ 08.04.2015

Haikus of 2015

Here are some haikus I wrote 2015 strung together into a multi-ku.

Love creates all things;
The tips of fingers, filling
the space between time.

Early June evening –
Summer heat graces my cheek
with beads of sweat

I’m trying to find
a reason to love you but
you just really suck.

Drunk people are not
patient, especially when
waiting for pastries.

Wine-bottle window –
Seems better than looking through
Rose-colored glasses

Justice is best served
with a glass of sangria
and ironic prose

I’m remembering.
How difficult it is, but
worth remembering.

I am in distress
but not your fucking damsel –
Princess saved herself

I’m tired of fighting.
I’m resigning my army.
Take the guilt with you.

The grass grows up to
meet my nose and fill it with
freshly watered scent

I’ve loved you before.
I will love you tomorrow.
I love you today.

EJZ