We wandered once in this Zen garden,
absorbing every color of sound we
could hear with synesthesia as our guide.
Twin flames were put out by the
electric ocean we conducted out of
thin air sighs, synchronizing with the
galloping stampede…gliding through wind without cares.
We wandered, but only once.
We recited our written manifestations to one another,
connecting with the collective creativity as
two self-educated academics with a thirst for literature.
Unread palms enter psychic phenomena,
lavender with twists of violet.
I have voluntarily stepped into your web of seduction, Arachnid Mistress.
Tangle me in each verse, in each stanza.
We recited, but only once.
We kissed until the two spheres who
battled for 24 hour custody of the sky.
Our goddesses and legends have entered into myth.
Keeping our tasteful lips at an unrestricted distance,
but when we have reached nirvana’s wink
it hardly seems to matter anymore.
Daydream believers, we pay tribute to you.
We kissed, but only repeatedly.
All of your hearts have seemed to
stop beating, remaining idle on the darkest side.
Dires that never pass, the flames of war,
sweep themselves under shielded rugs
on National Wealth’s regretful floors.
All prior scribblings left as etchings on
French caves, signs of upright life in
simplicity’s downward spiral gatherings.
Grandfathered into this burning meadow,
a scene as bland as chaos itself.
We dance the cumbia like you taught me.
Your Spanish eyes smile wider than these arms can hold you.
Not ready to grieve you just yet,
we enter one final death trek into
abandoned sanctuary, vandalized halls of monarchs.
Knock three times, my rolling tongue mistress of insecurities.
We loved one another until subcontinents told nature to
divide us in the least amicable way.
Left to colonize in a haven of barbaric mannerisms,
we sink our teeth into carnal flesh,
feeding primal instincts to provide imagery for the hours of tonight.
The woman of every dawn dines in her birth gown,
awaiting further life instructions from below the surface.
We loved, but only for every lifetime.
Photo by Filipp Romanovski on Unsplash
Z. M. Wise
Z.M. Wise is a proud Illinois native from Chicago, poet, essayist, occasional playwright, seldom screenwriter, co-editor and arts activist, writing since his first steps as a child. He is co-owner and co-editor of Transcendent Zero Press https://transcendentzeropress.org/ , an independent publishing house for poetry that produces an international quarterly journal known as Harbinger Asylum. He is the author of seven books and chapbooks of published poetry and a play, including: Take Me Back, Kingswood Clock! (MavLit Press, 2013); The Wandering Poet (Transcendent Zero Press, 2014); Wolf: An Epic & Other Poems (Weasel Press, 2015); Cuentos de Amor (Red Ferret Press, 2015); Kosmish and the Horned Ones (Weasel Press, 2018); Illinois Infinitarium (Cherry House Press, 2020); and The Nightmare Mask (TBD). His debut play, Bottles of Emerald for the Demon Queen (Transcendent Zero Press, 2019), was published in late December of 2019. His most recent chapbook of poetry, the mini-epic known as The Nightmare Mask, is searching for a brand new home. Other than these books, his poems, lyrics, essays, and book reviews have been published in various journals, magazines, and anthologies. Besides poetry and other forms of writing, his other passions/interests include professional voice acting, singing/lyricism/songwriting, playing a few instruments, fitness, and reading.
