Meeting Balthus at the Red Table posed her sex exposed an ancient royal gift tied up in a silk sash and bow to be opened or closed fondled or forgotten leaning against the pillow breath held focused on a tapestry until the words “thank you” break her neutrality like the great exhale she turns […]
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Truth for the Stubborn trudge to make a living must be more to life than this world moving at breakneck speed synchronistic without purpose must be more to life than this questions haunt me like ghosts synchronistic without purpose my dance was out of step questions haunt me like ghosts hard
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Below Crown Hill there was a time when a nylon webbed beach chair was my throne watching bonfires blazed on lazy summer nights watching the beach circus as young tattooed torch twirlers illuminate the darkness while perfecting their craft watching the decommissioned battle worn USS Missouri sail past honored and humbled she silently graced
Condiments relish love laid on thick like mayonnaise now bitter like vinegar salt in the wound mustard strength to say it’s over ketchup Zack Hoffman 2024
This poem is from my talented cousin Marilyn Goldberg. This is published with her permission. Love you Cuz! Barbie Turns Fifty Her full breasts sag after years of perfect plastic sex. Loving has ceased, replaced by night sweats soaking her miniature bed. She turns to Ken with contempt, notices hairs
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Comrades war protestors intellectuals performance artists with no tools for higher education photo of four playing hearts days of friendship and smoke one eaten by multiple sclerosis one eaten by heroin one eaten by grief when I was dying you scooped me up took me home roots never took when you
Union we march to nowhere protesting nothing apathy sticks to us like beach tar sing a song of entitlement coffee while God sits in a football field dispensing Ozempic
Homeland raised without parents in different places moved to a city where I had no memory plan of protection through invisibility keep the head down endure the living moved to a city where I had no memory beating heart of ice begins to melt keep the head down seek out a living hearing strangers start
This is one of my favorite poems from “Late Model”. 70 Love when I was young my reputation was “that kid is really good” sharp and bold and fleet of foot with a racquet made of wood I used to run onto the court with shoes and shorts and shirt and now I spend some
My Love have you forgotten me in the dust of time grey and wrinkles chill the memory that sparks from deteriorating photos once we laughed naked spooned intimacy at midnight silent human endearment world of past and future light years away distant heart music yearning to touch once again long slow passion with bones that