zumpoems

Decked out

Your regalia creaks and groans
A panoply of rust and whining joints
Moira’s chess game begins
And already you’ve been rooked

Charge full-tilt at windmills
Or
Settle for an electric fan
Just keep moving
Or God’s heating element
Will fry your soul
And scorch rationality
Maintain that effervescent personality
And disco on the Teflon of life

As the sun browns out
And your Zippo’s flint disintegrates
Grope along the nitred steps
And nestle in your excelsior storage crate

Relax and let the Sony vomit
Search for a bebop sax
(The opiate of the cool)
Kicked back, you realize
You might just slit your
Jugular while shaving tomorrow
Fate won’t have you to kick around anymore.

— Zumwalt (Oct. 1978)