Micah Zevin

The Narrative

Boil all halts in asylums mental pauses tourniquets

decisions, decisions, decisions Visa, Mastercard microscopic

limited inferno alarms crafted silence paper airplanes across spread

sentences trafficking convictions drug towers, no!

in the city turned around, held where we I you howl economically,

recall midair inside airport lounges waiting for prime millennials

in the night partying taking control of your story

The Origins of Knowledge, the Divided Classes and How they are Divided

Trouble no more Pirates strike against pirates troubled companies

defeated by their own failures overwhelmingly, in their eyes

workers become blue dots/bots on a map spying restorative libraries

books schools bound together feathers for a nest in canyons grand

deadliest experiencing heats floods storms dust in ages. What’s in our

skulls? Dulling the knife, bloodthirst, ravenous heist in progress, floating

regressions with a hooded robin future sutures of day night flights like vanishing

islands paid to solve problems climate, plastic war, darkest lights. Heinous incel

nonsense fascist new sloganeering horrible squirrel musk from soulless (If you believe

in such things) husks vibrating earth wearing belts becoming too loose, drowning itself

overheating rampant disease slowly, quickly as all oils tainted pumped into bodies

packaged foods, fake chemical obsolescence glowing like chips created in laboratories

stock in our colors addictive crunches hypnotizing, memorizing our unnecessary residue

in urgent need of restart from endless blights fighting off delusional shocking endorsements

diagnosis triggered windfalls golden bulbs requiring new directions dismissing out

debunking myths blowing obsessions like distorted glass with their uncolorful

biases.

9/11/24: The Shadows of Inevitability: Questions and Answers not Solutions

The first charges towards the fires

the wild soot filled air cries for help

the viral flying everywhere but still a haze

hallucination, smoke screens rubble buster,

Who are you? And what is time? Lords, a box

to travel in get lost fight the monsters the canaries

the demons in human form mist, dust of life unforgiven

a hot floor doesn’t make a hero a horror! A hero,

does it? God, forbid god the squishy squad of forgetfulness

down a drain of accountability into the ocean, the sea

saviors, veterans requiring saviors at leaders absconding with

honor, no care just a taking possession of their injuries

their harms’ way, hurricanes life bracing charges of memory

land-based coastal contentious controls then silenced,

protesting, fleeing, demanding repair

Notes on Modern ‘Flim-flam artistes or Are there Angels or Are We all Demons:

The angels do a spacewalk backwards forwards ganging up on astronauts

for exiting the planet. The golden M is a commodity targeted in hell,

conducting in a mission of stolen identities stomping one slave on top of the

other, tricking the lost into the trades barbed contrarians dumping your fiercest

stares as they are creeping you out a supernova lingers headed to the dose

where one question distracts from another, we have no intention of solving

instead of seeking futures lighter, easier, smaller delayed cancelled confessions

need splurges on flights grounded in packed bags vacations from wrecked

bodies finances depleted energy resources balance off climate in your backyard

evolving viral elicit despair work disrespected yet patriotic ignored by investors

Angels and devils’ space out their walks so one converges or does not converge

With the other melding, hovering, smothering coaxing hoaxing spirit. Spirited.

Shining Bright yet Coarsely, or What is this Line, this Time?

Who will mark me tape me

Label date and time spines

give out patterns break like bark

backs stiffen arms dislocate

stomach percolates in good bad ways

like brewing coffee perfect evaporation points

rooms living humid by surrounded crunching guinea

pigs— who but yourself rummager through minds

in search of postage not to be mailed or delivered or voted on

supposedly fraudulent or allegedly non-existent sender

ghosts’ boots boost deadly, proven wrong not heard from ever

or again except judged, convicted by up-made believe-makers

freed by sentences, one yet when critics needing helping owed taxes

stolen jewelry prisoner of rehabilitation seizure cry search controversial

polluting deep sea murders turning deserts green stormy can be a person place

thing as the earth rings its golden bells balls is yet another nutcase

dealers themselves your hero rant saying the same thing repeatedly

What matters most? Who will make you safe when not found? What’s shining

bright yet coarsely?

Lab Rats or The Great Unmasking Lighting Everything on Fire

Are you imploding/exploding a messy sweaty trail

blasting humid winds emerging an escalating

violent scamming pig in a race to cost billions, you

disguise cancers turning butchering you into shows

becoming living nightmares dripping us off cliffs

lawyering up out bailing our denials us gifting

bizarre grandpa moments or flashbacks regardless of

time beds facts blunt checking brain waves

soaked naked barefoot numb hands cover under

warehouses deep in no one knows galvanize

memoires of childhood taunting working teaching

employing tactics free telling stories a bit of lithium

we’re supplying the charges with electricity what’s still

looming as we are miserable stupid prey in what we

have been prey to before down shut, nuked?! Singing a

fragrance French?! Meant to make us forget slow taking it

narcissists collapsed stealing cooking.

Micah Zevin is a librarian poet living in Jackson Heights, Queens, N.Y. with his wife and guinea pigs. He has published articles and poems most recently at the Heavy Feather Review, Big Other, The Bowery Gothic, The Poets of Queens Anthology, Narrative Northeast, Pine Hills Review, Spoke Journal, Fence, First Literary Review East, Brevitas 20-2023 Anthology of the Short Poem, the Queensbound poetry project, Oddball Magazine, Unlikely Stories and forthcoming in slipslips. His first book of poems, Metal, Heavy was published December 1st, 2020 from Olena Jennings and Poets of Queens Press. He has created/curated an open mic/poetry prompt workshop called The Risk of Discovery Reading Series.