Poetry Blog by Zach Dafoe

A truth born of molars: 
people are fickle and their feet will stake them, always, in fairer weather. They do this as our ungulate friends do: grazing from pasture to pasture. 

We re hard-pressed, in life, to find people who move through the action of their eyes, upright and ahead, instead of the idleness of shuffling feet; we are hard-pressed to find people who act on principle instead of out...

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'we convinced the serpent to pull us across 
we took on water and ships were lost 
stuck trekking thru a bog that went so deep 
screams from helheim could be heard from below 
each time the surface broke 
And our men, carrying pieces of our ship 
above their heads 
could feel the slain and bloated bellies of history 
beneath their feet.
Tho we pulled out our lesser men 
sunk to the chin,...

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gone days 
of a whispered rack, lashed 
against obsidian history 
misunderstood. 
these ropes weren't made to slip over my wrists 
but that's what god invented nails for.

dawn days
breaking , split gut and glowsticks 
cured ham and other salted relics :
tryptophobic abstracts
tiger traps to tiptoe over 
the weight of legends heavier 
than bruised absconding feet 

colored nights 
...

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eyes roll west, 

we see synapses dimly firing at easy targets and cheap jokes, teeth chattering, white and sharp, hungry for derision

for anything else but the terrifying bog

of what it is to be a human being in control of your own life.

instead, let's laugh at the tumbling waves of pending disaster

narrowly skirting by our lives each and every single day, pretending that ...

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I've only awoken on the sidewalk once 

And once wasn't enough .

a black string is caught in the small hairs on my arms 

cooling dews, falling: a near palpable mist 

whirring and chittering insects

like collections calls 

i can feel broken glass filling my pockets 

unsent text messages to blocked numbers 

i cant remember who fired the first shot 

but in cer...

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