1. text

    I’m Waiting for You to Listen, Shut Up, I’m Getting to the Good Part

    I laid the girl under the desk and wrapped her thighs around the legs.

    I am not infatuated with the idea of a woman

    standing above

    waiting for arsenic to pull her cheeks up over her eyes.

    Honestly, I catch

    between my lips and

    the price drops.

    Smiling at the pictures in the hallway? The south wall. She could

    have been

    something if I hadn’t come along.

    In the early evening she washed her arms with lavender soap, the clocks backward the hands it goes, what are you doing standing the rain with your legs spread, come inside, you’ll catch your death.

  2. text

    I HOPE I’M NOT DRIVING YOU AWAY WAIT A LITTLE LONGER YOU WON’T REGRET IT

    Your pants are off. Your pants are

    always

    off,

    wrapped around the

    clouds,

    gripping your feet together like polka-dotted hands,

    his hands,

    uninitiated bones peeling the scars away from your ankle. You are staring at the ceiling, you’ve counted the stains, the mold,

    the semen,

    the way they form his face on the deadened yellow plaster that wants to spear the back of your throat with his cross until your top comes off.

    This is you and you

    wanted it to

    be you.

  3. text

    ATLAS WAS PERMITTED THE OPINION THAT HE WAS AT LIBERTY

    Atlas was permitted the opinion that he was at liberty, if he wished, to drop the Earth and creep away; but this opinion was all that was permitted. - Franz Kafka

    Stop spitting in my coffee and stirring the foam with your finger. The truth is,

    women find

    boring what I

    If we let the girl

    get herself wet up to her

    can she be

    fed your larynx? Is doing what

    you want turning my stomach hairs to black widows?

    And

    she said to me (because she never shuts up never takes her legs off and lets me slide my tongue through her)

    one day, I will wake up one day

    and you’ll drop me. I’ll shatter like a wine glass.

  4. text

    A Night in Your Apartment: Best Scenes Compilation

    A Night in Your Apartment: Best Scenes Compilation

    :56 – a new species of broccoli I find under your tongue. You tell me stop trying to stamp out the fire you tell me you’re only making it worse (back arched, orifices open).

    2:39 – the castle seized, flags lowered, whiskeys all around. Good job, boys, you earned it. Smoke speaks to the nipples but cries in an archaic dialect.

    6:02 – I couldn’t stand to have you read my thesis, I wrote it in five minutes, I stopped remembering how to bleed. A car stopped inside of me and I lost the keys I can’t move it. Anyway, take it.

    14:36we stop pinching your arms into segments and lost we become in a desert of saliva. When the sun where does it hide its hands? Behind its eyes?

    27:14 – the stars are sleeping in our mouths, they’re cutting away at our tongues with their sawblades, I taste you, it’s cold, there’s ice hanging from my neck like my

    59:51 – you I am feeding snow. It melts in your lap, we suck the wetness out of your jeans, mouth like a vacuum it’s only

    1:30:42 – if you don’t know how to clean bones from the gutters with your tongue, we’re starring in the wrong movie.

  5. text

    I Looked in the Cupboard; Camus was Gone

    I.

    You might think it went like this: first, 

      I’d pull the charred sticks across your 

    stomach and paint charcoal angels on your decayed nipples, and

    you’ll remember why we were mouth-deep

    in an exploded

    garbage

          truck, and why our eyes were coated in 

          stale gasoline and fireflies. Then the stains

    of 

       coffee and absinthe will erode

        at the notches 

    between the windows of your throat,

    they’ll knock very softly before tearing your teeth from your palms and leaving them on your mother’s porch,

    and when the clocks nailed to our lungs stop remembering our names, I’ll 

    take you to the infirmary and 

    we’ll ask the surgeons to stop dancing on your fetal 

    deathtrap.

    II.

    Let’s 

            pretend it didn’t go like this:

            you told me “I love you” and I remembered what it felt like to become ambient sound,

    and I said “this is too soon” and you stabbed the back of my 

    throat with 

    the ruby fork in yours,

    and I ripped out your eyes, 

    I rubbed them against my heels until they smoked and caught your house on fire,

    they

          chased me around the room,

     around the couch you hid his bones in,

       “he” being whoever you want,

    it doesn’t matter, not 

             really.

    Your eyes and I wrestled until you joined in, 

    your hands

    ripped my lips to pieces, 

       we fed them to the eyes,

    they impaled themselves on me,

      “them” meaning you,

    you moved my dreams for me and in the morning we found them, we remembered that we hid them behind your snake print heels.

    When you picked me back up and wiped the pus from 

    my eyebrows, and made me promise to never be creative again, I think I saw the couch grin smugly 

    and swallow him whole.

  6. text

    Poem (If You Ask Me…)

    I am currently working on a collection of poems based around the idea of sex as a destructive force, and its effect on people involved. Over the next few days, I plan to post a few of them, starting with what I intend to use as the introductory piece.

    Poem


    If you ask me

    to project the idea

    of love into my 

    mind, will I

    always think of

    entering a woman

    dominating, listless over

    my lips like a 

    decrepit hawk?

    Perhaps and perhaps

    not, this is just a 

    reflection of where

    on the road we’ve 

    decided to turn our

    bodies into a home.

    If I had to show

    love to you, 

    I would cave

    in your stomach

    with a wedge and

    use the sinews

    to string a cello.

    Love is lost on

    you if you don’t

    understand

    that a 

    penis is a 

    weapon.

About

I'm Zach. I'm a poet. I also read far too much philosophy. I don't know what else to write here. Maybe you should ask me questions and I'll put the answers here, or something.

NOTE: The title of this page comes from a quote by Franz Kafka:
"Atlas was permitted the opinion he was at liberty, if he wished, to drop the Earth and creep away; but this opinion was all that was permitted."

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