Zumwalt Poems Online

as good as buried

as good as buried
so ball-drained
cause he has to have a chick
                             on the kick

a boomer today and a blow-out tomorrow
he thinks he’s a cool aviator
but it’s not so cool where he always ends up:

another piece of debris among floaters
and when he’s back on the ground
his gears are jammed

for the pleasure has turned to pain
and will remain
until another connection.

— Zumwalt (1974)

Overweight Legionnaires

Overweight Legionnaires

Ripening wine
And a greedy fire
Throw on another log
While the fog coagulates about the limes
And chokes Eboracum
In a clammy shroud.

Hadrian’s Wall’s gone mossy—
Too cold for laid back Latins
Pouring libations
While we watch the
Gonzo Celts
Digging up the peat.

— Zumwalt

Cousteau and Darwin Move to Suburbia

Like pilot fish
Affixed, transfixed
Upon the gluttonous chin
Of the maneater,
We give thanks and
Humbly suck the detritus
From Fate’s
Serrated mandibles.
The irony of Sophocles
Is just the symbiosis
Of little fish
And unevolved vertebrates
Scrubbing their gills
With polluted waters,
Lacking the initiative
To crawl up the bank, and breathe.

— Zumwalt (1981)



Parody Worship
Smiling in the Dusk of Midnight Eyes
Acting in the Bleakness
of Frosted Minds

Paced Paper Parade —
Pausing Promises Pleading
Past the Cineramic
Sycophantic Sharks

a Coldness Recedes
and Faith Breakers Retreat
into Placebos of Reeling Celluloid

— Zumwalt (1981)

Bull Market

Bull Market

The gardeners have hit the pavement,
Bulldozed by smiling engineers
Optimists—peddling bromides.

Take your pick:
        Withdraw your last fiver
        For a philosophic Wheel-O;
        Hands in your pockets, sardonic
        Watch Babel climb.

“On this spot will be erected utopia”
        Yeah, sure.
        But, the wise man knows Penelope
        Has taken on Ithaca
        And counsels Odysseus to put his
        Money in Krugerrands.

        — Zumwalt (late 1980’s)

deleterious habitat

deleterious habitat

hot southern heat
  baking your alaska
the smog fills your
lungs like sand
                in a dersadrop humidifier

breathing is a function
  and we are approaching an asymptote

three toed sloths trek through the treptremanian soil

burning air and burning phylum

It is time to let me out.

— Zumwalt (1974)

might as well forget her

            like a hot rock

pizza pipers peddling pieces of purposeful product
not at all like 
           lipstick, perfume, deodorants
                    and other such shallow items

cleatamenthate degarglycide throntine
it does me no good to say i miss her
                          i don't

and if I ever find myself missing her
              then something's missing in me

craters, black light, dew drops, frozen stages, 
         and a topping of dehydrated marshmallow sauce.

the world is full --
          it's full of fools

and common sense has vaporized
       like an ice cube on the sun.

— Zumwalt (1974)