Four poems by Mike Zone

2 deaths for the price of one

Sometimes I wake up
and realize
my mother is dead
and I don’t know how to cry
and I don’t how to rage
all around desolation
all I know is this cavity in my chest
deeply sinking
(submerged values?)
man, I wish my cat was around


snow bright, info byte, star blight
when the EM hits
will you indulge in cannibalism?
even if unnecessary
despite polite society’s deconstruction?
I believe, I might
feast upon fools
of good hypocritical fellowship
wear the stapled faces
of victim’s lovers
“Why won’t you kiss me?
“don’t you recognize your schmoopsie-poopsie?”
wandering outside the neighborhood
in frock coat, rubber apron,
coat full of cleavers
perhaps, I’ve gone too far
choking the wealthy with bones of their children
forcing them to gorge upon meat pies
(spawned spoiled flesh)
body of body- from one’s own body
and back again
DNA navigations turn into waste
Where did that false nobility go?
amid, well-reasoned moral lapses
allegedly born of good intent?
putting off good meals for days
dazed on scraps
I’d love to confine them in their towers
kingdoms- scraping skies
forced to eat one another
eventually gone mad
in sublime unison
I’ll take my pound of flesh too
carcass of a pig over my head
so thrilled to hunted
they all will be

Where I live

Earth- samba, fire-jazz
stuffed in the fridge
amid baboon glory
“rain down on me, holy spirit! Rain down on me!”
sings a man walking through the parking lot
rain falling
craters overflowing
flood warning
it’s not all silence where I live
the derelict grounds
mud and salt- eating my clothing
I want her to come find me
though I’ve no idea who she is
woman yet to manifest
hooting and hollering
screeching child able to walk and bobble
whooping parents incoherently howling
larynx intact- kid can’t verbalize
screeches, wails, kicks the wall to communicate
frolics in the garbage
cooking near the register
several days old- at least three bags
contents: rotten food, excrement filled diapers, stale cigarettes and ash with various fast food wrappings
fumes permeating- the hallway, my apartment
the smell of failure
someone come find me
in this madhouse of filth and grotesque feral noises.

February vision

the woman looks beautiful
in the diamond window
liquid pain

Mike Zone is the author of Fellow Passengers: Pubic Transit Poetry, Meditations & Musings and Better than the Movies: 4 Screenplays. He is the co-writer of the graphic novel series American Anti-hero from Alien Buddha Press.His poetry and stories have been featured in: Beatnik Cowboy, Horror Sleaze Trash, In Between Hangovers, Mad Swirl, Rasputin Poetry, Synchronized Chaos, Triadae Magazine and Your One Phone Call. He scrapes by in Grand Rapids, MI

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