Ground Zero


I'm coming to terms with something

but it's not me.

An unwavering yet detached



It's lacking in

earthly cohesion.

I get intoxicated

on passive stares...

eyes fixated on blank walls.


I revel in the fall

of buildings

not yet blueprinted,

and make long distance calls

to countries

where the telephone ain't invented.


Praying for the safety

of friends in the morgue:

I think if we traded places

it wouldn't be much more

than different faces

or a man who erases a toe tag.

Rub, rub

Remove the pencil marks

I left on the rug

with your shuffling feet

for I am as temporary as lead.

As freeform as the mist scuffling

invisibly through a ghost town.


Vividly, I define

the intangible

into something more indistinct.

This is me:

the instinct of a crater

to prove its existence

through further subtraction.



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Athalia Lystra's picture

Ohh how brilliant you are!

The beginning is my favorite although the "trading of faces" part really hit home.

I love this, and you thought I couldn't read poetry at work... hmm... :P