zumpoems

frame face

She glowers like the towers telling our past hours
to strangers passing peddling private wares of
seeding past affairs
     shoot the blaster
     pass the mustard

laughing choking not disclosing
     distastefully hoping
     resolution teases like a ten buck hooker
     a textbook burner

wishing off evil thoughts with wards
     of destruction

in frantic future non-operatives
mask reality like  drifts of mud
tracked on Sybil's high polished floor.

— zumwalt (late 1970s or early 1980s?)