Full time psuedo-intellectual, part time shovel knight, long-time blue collar chafe, out-of-time writer still alive ;
'Living Blind' I talked to Styx, and she asked me what I'd like to see. I told her it was about time she brought the other side to me. Rowing on oars, bleeding opulence, sliding up to the shores of my own worst enemy. I'd visit. We'd visit, I mean in all my years blind, I never thought I'd feel my way to this level of inanimacy. Limbs, like roots, buried deep into your core. Grains of you penetrating, all-encompassing. until my consciousness is saturated; a panorama of your worst smile. I'm afraid of the day when we touch hearts. When we get so close we'll bump, incidentally and with great serendipity. I'm afraid it'll get personal, and you'll know me as the malleable, cold, Tin Heart of reluctance. Tin Heart, Hatchet Heart; then I would remember the last shape of you on my fists, and you would remember my apologies. Broken nose Jiang. A spider, a cruelty, a pile of beautiful pop culture syndrome. A symphony of cacophony. An operations director in postwar anticlimax, built from the ground up for antiheroes, just like me. I'll die in your web. Like all the welps I'll die right here. But I'll drink your poison-- there's no way these hands would let me accept your grace and service. Live like ink, die like ink.
All poems are copyright of the originating author. Permission must be obtained before using or performing others' poems.
the 8th rain (08/04/2022) (07/08/2022)
the 8th moon (08/04/2022) (07/08/2022)
0416 (06/12/2022) (12/06/2022)
the plains (06/12/2022) (12/06/2022)
night physics III (1/31/22) (31/01/2022)
night physics II (01/07/22) (07/01/2022)
naloxone ASG (07/05/2021) (06/07/2021)
dream un-numbered (09/05/2021)
birch-backed remnants of smaller cities (09/05/2021)
15 machines (04/29/2021) (30/04/2021)
Blog link: https://www.writeoutloud.net/blogs/zachdafoe
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