Zamir Birnbach
“Honeysuckle Sickness”
Bodies steam, widening
spectrum of exposure to the strobe
floral patterns flaunted breasts
pilot caps crowned on shaved brows
sleek men crowding the kitchen:
a frantic quest for more elixir.
Arm reaches, extending the unmistakable
sweating - eye sight hazy
peering into its purple depths as I drink
the sweetness sometimes lingers with the scent of joy
to mask the salutations, late assignments, novel knowledge,
we search for alternatives,
ways to abscond from the sober.
Weekend hordes squeeze rooms,
sloppy introductions, gurgles of attraction
these words get tossed around in the laundromat of discussion
washing over me with pungent tide
exuding from the doorframe once the cycle is complete.
But the rounds repeat.
I grow sick of this saccharine lifestyle.
“It’s Always Sunny Above the Clouds”
Traveling east in evening expedites nature.
Close your window to blinding beams
Open it to a retreating molten orb.
Most towns are clumped, crippled fireflies, only void between.
Steady crimson flash on the tip of the wing and your conscience.
Stars melt into lineless horizons and cities indistinguishable.
Without sun to give identity, clouds are black,
Lights fade in and out of existence. Unnatural.
Paying premium to relatively teleport over the world
it still suffers beneath.
It enters our eyes but elicits no thought.
So we scramble to squeeze the sinking seconds
of Wi-Fi, invisible beams of indulgence.
We have begun our descent.
“Stain”
My back isn't straight anymore
it hasn't been since they talked to momma.
No other way for lulu to go
to school, it must be done.
My elephant knees are caked with copper dirt
I forget my fingers.
They are stained with blood
but it is not my own.
Mr. Johnson says it is Christmas season in America
but it only gets hotter here.
If my basket is not full
neither is my belly.
momma touches the bruises but does not speak while lulu
sits at the table backpack on, buries beaded braids
in her arms like an ostrich.
“Gaze through Glass”
Blinding needle peak, argon beams
painted on like layer cake.
Lone-star glistens
hunched bodies bustle beneath
labyrinthine constructs of metal and light.
Evening indigo glides
infiltrating man’s machines
chokes on haze muting perception.
Linoleum floors wooden cabinets
sticky sap scent still lingers
papers adorn desks abreast paddles and balls.
Two brothers, four fish, and snails
seasonal loratadine.
