Author: zornog

gray encroaches on the city,
pelting pavement with rain.
curlicues of fog and steam
from the tops of buildings
intermingle. the city is alive.
i feel the wetness from my jacket
draped over the back of my chair,
my ergonomic chair, my chair
built to enhance my work ability.
socialism within a capitalist
context; provide assistance
to create the best worker,
not the best human.
the landscape is foggy and gray.
perpetual portland. the top
of wells fargo scrapes
the bottom of the clouds.
no finite line between them,
like lovers in tangles.

did you, at all, take this?
did you wrap this around
the beating heart
you flaunt in that flaccid vessel?
when you walk you defy air,
you teeter at the edge
of extremity and cost,
carefully calculating all
calumny you dispense
at the expense of others.
when you take this,
you take all of this.
and everyone wonders
if you’ll ever give it back.

some type of captive undulation,
she in limnal dreamlike capture
cries out a desperate hymn
to the understars. fortuitous,
then, the dismal winsome shadows
wrapped along the walls, pulsing
with life, fluttering like
entrenched eyelids against a brocade
of fine silk, lashes caught
in the undertow.

if i poop–
and poop i shall–
i hope i poop
in chaparral,
for poop on plains
is plainly shitty
and poop on streets
is for the city.
so thus i seek
a shrub or bush,
to hide the poop
dropped from my tush,
and bush or shrub
i hope and pray
hath leaf enough
to wipe away…the poop.

trevor, drenched in turgid drama
drafted terms to buy a llama
with his former girlfriend (note
the “former” in that bit i wrote).
the terms were: one, it must remain
outside in sun or snow or rain,
no matter what it’s disposition
their roommates would be fairly pissed ‘n
stuff; two, a fifty-fifty share
of which of them would have to care
for this enormous beast they bought–
of parentage he hadn’t thought
too far ahead; and three, of course,
for this was nothing like a horse,
they’d shave it every single spring
and use the wool to knit some things
to sell at random marketplaces
turning frowns to smiley faces.
this, his girlfriend did decree
was worth the shit propelled by he
into the fan of dating life.
one llama fixes every strife.

tried and true,
i flocked to you
a mountain of
oily dark ravens
roosting in your
every move.
the night a
sexual shudder
in warm sheets
and warm skin.
i touch the tip
of your finger
against my lips
like gentle kiss
for soft hands.

give me something better.
i will search for it but
you have to give me a sign
that it exists. otherwise
i am looking for the haystack
needle, but the haystack
is depression and anxiety,
a proverbial sea
the likes of which have
never been seen before.

sometimes when i breathe
i feel a shortness of breath,
ever subtle, not threatening
but a gentle reminder that
i am struggling. a tug on
the rope i am dangling from.
each breath is a shock to
my mental health.
i continue breathing.