Networks of veins run through life
like dew drops counting time
in dreams untouched by shadows of shame
and seconds colored by the fruit of the day.

There is peace in the sun
though she cries at night
while the moon hangs heavy in the sky –
Limber, with the scent of dusk
in the orange tinge that takes hold
of her faint farewell to daytime.

Drifting off to dreaming
where the petals turned to dust –
Phased not by nature’s passing
Instead, said,
connect to pieces unwrought,
fragmented and full
like the drops of time still uncounted.

EJZ 07.24.2015


Cloud dusts over starlight,
shielding gray on gray.
The empty space next to me reminds
I am alone.
Breathe in –
Mood ring blue depths
instead of sky
Looking for reflection,
beg connection
Somewhere in the dark of night
to hope to see
your face, breath
washing over me
like ocean mist and drowning –
I wonder if you think of me,
look next to you, alone at night,
miss the rise and fall of my chest –
It’s all I can think of when I look to the sea
as time passes through my fingers,
silky and delicate like sand.

EJZ 08.19.2015

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
As tall as the trees
Looking down at the birds
balancing in the sky,
searching –
For what –
That something

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

I am

Tree tops

To dream
To write

Back to Earth
I’m still here
I stepped in dog shit.

My legs can carry me anywhere.

EJZ 04.19.2015

Writer’s Block Saga

I have writer’s block.
Writing this will go nowhere.
I have writer’s block.

For the longest time,
if I told you I had the hiccups they would go away.

Truth-telling is powerful if someone is there to listen;
if not it sort of just shakes you up inside.

To hold yourself accountable for what keeps you up at night
is a step toward a relationship with God.

My point is,
I don’t have writer’s block anymore.

EJZ 06.11-12.2015

Between Now and Waiting

My creative muse and dear friend, Laura Farrell, snapped this photo. She sent it to me and inspired this poem.


Between Now and Waiting
Speak softly now, for the city sleeps
and soon it will be sunrise
where first drop of morning dew collects
on sparse-laid grass across your feet
and sails across the riverbed
to remind of night-touched secrets whispered over bridge-path.

Believe in our silence
for it keeps their souls asleep.

The sky blushes at our blinking eyes
as life bustles through our veins;

Wakes to find us wondering,
longing for the hour of emerging,
that unbroken time between 3 AM and daybreak,
just before the first stroke of red paints blue,
where our rooftops can sing
and long arms intertwine
over smoky river sighs

Speak softly now, for the city sleeps –
I’ll leave my light on for you.

EJZ 07.16.2015

Passing Conversation

It is amazing what people carry with them
You look at them and never know the weight they hold

Unseen burdens
hidden by smiles,
in the lines on their faces,
in the way they pause before answering
“How are you?”

Silenced but exposed
by the falter in their voices
and the way that they blink
when you ask, “How are you?”

They never say
They never say
They never say
And they sure as hell never say

They brush it off
and divert to you
and you do the same

but what if you didn’t?
What if you let the parts of your face that have been carved away speak?
What if you let your heart talk?
And those dark places?
Would a shadow be cast on the earth?
And so what?
Would it start to rain?
Would it stop?
And so what?

If the truth is the truth then let it be true.

How are you today?
How are you today?
How are you today?
I’m alive.

EJZ 04.08.2015

Seeing Red or “This is how I talk to myself in my head.”

This isn’t how it’s supposed to be.
They’re not going to breathe for you
they can’t,
they never have,
they never will –
and you shouldn’t expect it.

You need to breathe for yourself –
Didn’t they tell you that?
No –
you were “too stupid,
too weak,
too blind,
too bad, so sad.”

You have two lungs of your own
and even if you just had one
you’d find a way to use it
and at first you’d know the difference
but after awhile you’d forget

like you forgot you were
never too stupid,
never too weak,
never too blind –
Too bad, so sad.

What are you even saying?
Are you disillusioned?
Or have you never seen so clearly before that it’s clouding your vision?

Do you wish you were too stupid?
Do you wish you were too weak?
Too blind to hear a word you thought –
You knew!
You speak
like you know what you’re saying.

Do you?
Do you know?

Do you wake up from a dream and know you aren’t dead?

Do you wish you were?

Do you know what you’re saying?
Fuck you!
Does it matter where you’ve been, what you say, what you do?


What do you think?
What do you think?
What do you think?

EJZ 03.27.2015

“I wrote a poem that makes no sense”


Once upon a time
I was balancing on the wall
and spinning out of sight.
Each finger-prick and toe-tap
driving me out of my wits, my mind
melting in the freezing heat
of dark cold warm insanity;
A juxtaposition of me and
whoever else I want to be
or who wants to be

A spirit in suspension
dwelling on the edge of a cliff
over jagged stone
under murky pools –
This is my threshold,
I have reached my limit.
I am ready to jump
and be caught
or not
and breathe
or not
but wherever I land,
let it be a place
that has

EJZ 03.23.2015