A Fistful of Poems from Mike Zone

With

Good god

you’re a hate-filled creature

with a rotten soul- How can you be?

after flowing down stream

in endless nocturnal love

even across the continent

in several other ancestral countries

when day broke

you went about automatically

when night descended

the heart awoke

hungry for romance

lusting for something more

hoping for something

beyond temporary

dismal eternity

Midnight raw

Charley lost- the Devil won

I’m not the man

Rumi can put back together again

Everyone’s midsummer dream

my personalized sunsetting western nightmare

fiddle fingers broken

the optimist’s desire rendered inept

pale rider coming forth

on no mere albino beast

but a bone-plated muscle car raising dust- intermingled  ashen exhaust in the scorching sun

concrete is the foundation of the funeral pyre

of what we’ve lost in the fire

voices inside- fragmented calling you “liar”

for thinking less than what is more

something cold and slick

across your nude shoulder

no words

no clothes

of your own

how could you have been empress or emperor of the world?

radical nude exposure

let me know

at midnight raw

Capitalist therapy

Masks in the parking lot

car exhaust from mad shopping excursions choking the atmosphere

a bag of half eaten fast food bakes in the heat

yes sir, Amerika’s back in full swing

no contagion here

step right up and get your realest realism

but something just isn’t right

maybe a touch of evil

under patriotic circumstances

what is the purpose of life?

“Do an inventory, rolling good times versus tumbling bad times, audit what you don’t like”

“remember it won’t work until you pay your bill.”

She entered me

She triggered something in me

while it’s sad to see her go

her brilliant presence

her vivacious form

among the simulated reeds

let’s pick them 

play the music of dead possibilities

future world loneliness

‘cause we’re not all lost to the darkness

in the disjointed harmony of illumination

I believe this to be so

Of you

Of me

Of what this world

could be

Late in coming to this…

sitting along the shore with the sand beneath my feet

  and earthen mineral tributes honoring the flesh, contemplating star dust veins watching the sun crash only

it’s really setting in an accelerated mercury retrograde kind of vision as Shiva dances and we remember Martian lives

 before the fire

 after the flood

the crystalline womb chairs

liquid gold

 constantly morphing towers

shifting with our moods

malice, manic lust, joyful tension, divine contentment,

 I remember her glowing ivory tender hands

 illuminating my insides

 as we walked to the waterway

 contemplating the cosmic odyssey

 our ashes would float and transmit

across the galaxy creating new life

ever reaching infinite forces

 in this constantly fluctuating universe of ours

 yet here I am

without you

 staring at a picture of a man

on the shore

 examining warehouse cuts and bruises

 putting my brain inside his painted hollow artist rendered mind

 tracing my own long lost newly found universal journey, it’s a time of play and wonderment

maybe the best thing to ever happen, was

 when we jumped into the fire together

letting the waves of the past wash over consciousness

 as skin and innards burned into floating ashen seedlings of living myths and holy images upon mundane sacred trails…

and good golly how fun it is to decipher it all.

Mike Zone is the author of One Hell of a Muse, A Farewell to Big Ideas and Void Beneath the Skin and coauthor of The Grind.  Editor in Chief at Rogue Wolf Press and a managing editor at Concrete Mist Press, a frequent contributor to Alien Buddha Press and Mad Swirl. His work has been featured in: Horror Sleaze Trash, Better Than Starbucks, Piker Press, Punk Noir Magazine, Synchronized Chaos, Outlaw Poetry and Cult Culture magazine.