I don’t see ghosts in trees.
Streams flow without hauntings,
the canopied sky empty of spectres.
But as I walk through quiet boughs
a chill creeps up my spine:
I am not alone.
Behind me I drag ghosts along
chained to each other, chained to me
over streams and under low hanging fruit.
I ask them about everything I see and feel,
“do you remember when...”
the forest exists only through spectral recollection.
-Zero
The quiet blues fill the room, this basement church (and occasional bat trap) saturated with a smooth groove. The dancing is varied, improvised: two sway to the slow rhythm as another pair gently spin with the melody.
Feel how the beat resonates through your body, how you become the music in the moment, your bodies instruments creating the song itself. Every dance is a composition, but not all compositions need bells and whistles. Some are content with smooth simplicity, with the connection that hums as bodies touch.
-Zero
April showers crash down
and I work
hunched over,
fingers flying across the keys
gotta go faster,
until words per minute
become
beats per minute.
Work getting harder;
I need to be stronger,
set new records
Olympic times for paperwork
until night comes,
and I collapse into bed.
May buds have crept up on me.
I open my eyes to gentle flowers and sunshine.
I’ll let the rush slip away,
lie in the field watch the clouds,
breathe and disappear into the grass
work can wait another day
-Zero
Happy birthday.
This year I’m planning for a concert,
a short trip to Toronto,
and thinking of the death of an old friend
a passionate and intense person
now gone with only memories to remain.
Happy birthday,
you’re not even 30 yet;
aren’t we too young to bury each other?
Isn’t it too early to die?
-Zero
