A late night writing dump of Poetry. Still prepping for the rapidly approaching reading, and working on various projects. Life is taller than the Berlin wall, and twice as thick. I need a pick-ax that prevents sleep. 6/10/2012


This Website has now been armed. 5/15/2012



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Facebook: Farmer John Zanath


All it took was a slip and a fall,
A moment of anti-gravity
and then a skull-fracture.

Chlorine burns my throat,
Like acid trickling down a concrete pipe.
Can't swim, so I improvise -
flail desperate and feel my lungs fill up.
Lie to myself to keep going,
time to persuade the man in black robes -
steal my life back from bone fingers.

If he shows up, I wonder if he'll
play checkers instead of chess. I try
pulling away from the creeping sleep -
to move upward and feel the air on my
skin again. Faces look like the masks of
angels, with silver whistles warping
into crucifixes.

My brain starts to fail.
The water gets tougher, thicker.
The struggle seems pointless,
Like punching hair gel.
A ghost hand comes down,

the dark swoops in, and
All I can feel is rough cement
Against my bare back
And my chest heaving out
Gallon after gallon of Pool.