Note for Note

When the snow
the sun and the sea
was like my
wind-blown hair
just another thing
out there within grasp
like the first gasp
of learning to ask
for what should
be a given
like a for goodness
no need to be stolen
because it is
waiting for you to take
advantage of the newness
the red white and blueness
me the prince
and she the princess
of darkness and lightness
and yes, this may all sound
merely musical
like Sir Lancelot
singing Camelot
feeling weak
while acting strong
you see I sold
my whole life
for a song  

Empty Nest

You promised
that it would all
come full circle
for me
like a cast
or class reunion
and I would do
a victory lap
around the lap
of luxury
and you said
I would look
around to see
loved ones
surround me
dancing round
and round
like a marching band
not like this accusatory
Custer’s last stand
because blame is
the only thing being
passed from hand to hand
and now nobody’s buying
the family brand
and to think Yoko
didn’t even break
up this band

Phantom of the Phantasm

From crystal clear
to out-of-focus
my vision is
mostly hocus-pocus
from my dream
of spotting my
perfect Pocahontas
in the New York
to my over-abundance
of inner reflection
sparkling in my iris
like guilty-pleasure
I am just overly
like a pre-histrionic
every beautiful thing
in this enchanted forest
a long-in-the-tooth
literary sorcerer’s apprentice
who learned how
to begin but not
how to end
this overflowing
life and death


Story Time

Don’t worry I won’t
let go of everything
from the summer
grapes of Bacchus
to the winter storm watch
of a January love affair
or the warm hands
of a telling look
in fact I am
taking it all in
from the sights
and the in-the-round
sounds of modern
written within
the daily dialect of
average, everyday
night owls who
hoot and holler
while drinking spirits
and shunning spirituality
in exchange for sensuality
what I am saying is
I see free verse
in the prose
of the universe
and I know there is
no reversal
because this is all
happening live
with no rehearsal
and this possibly
structureless plot
is all we’ve got

Published by Mike Zone

Mike Zone is the former Editor in Chief of Dumpster Fire Press and managing editor of Concrete Mist Press. The author of Screaming in the End: Poems and Stories, Fuck You: A Fucking Poetry Chap, Shedding Dark Places (almost), One Hell of a Muse , as well as coauthor of The Grind and Razorville. A frequent contributor to Alien Buddha Press and Mad Swirl. His work has been featured in: A Thin Slice of Anxiety, Black Shamrock Magazine, Horror Sleaze Trash, Better Than Starbucks, Piker Press, Punk Noir Magazine, Synchronized Chaos, and Cult Culture magazine.

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