Zero Hour

to the deliverance from the fog
to the remains of a sacred sex
& the conspiracy of heartfelt panic

to the pop culture rebel 
to the heroic reflections 
	of our dreams
& the wretched cats 
	who tilt their eyes 
	on the wings of a 
	forbidden planet

to the reversible side of fire
to dial in to the discovery of zero
to the newborn enterprise of 
lassoing our superstitions 
	to numbers 

mind is nothing without absence of mind 
	& the tranquility of meaningful noise
	& the wrinkled position 
	& the swelling of the gates
	& the soft encumbrance
on the journey to white noise

7 responses to “Zero Hour”

  1. A perfect & infinitely fantastic retro-future deja-vu gem shining with the unexpected but already known. For me, this poem seems to celebrate the pure joy of ‘surprise’, of the subconscious feeling before the conscious can compute, categorize, and benumb… In other words, it’s like your own shadow that suddenly appears revealing a whole other world existing alongside.

    Adiós, guapa señorita!

    Liked by 1 person

    • Thank you for the kind words, Pablo. I am a firm believer that the best and the most satisfying poetry is spontaneous, not over-worked, and not fully conscious. It says a great deal about you that you are able to perceive these nuances. Thank you again, mon cher, for the feedback. 🙂

      Liked by 2 people

  2. […] These days, I begin most of my poetic exercises (including those that never become poems published here or elsewhere) by forcing myself to act as a novice. My mantra: write as if you don’t know better. Lest I fall victim to the rules, real or imagined. I try to begin without preconceived ideas (or as few as possible, anyway), which I accomplish by placing limits on myself. For the first stanza, say, I only allow myself to use certain words or images—those I grab from the book nearest me, whichever window is open on my laptop screen, or even a playlist I happen to be listening to. I have no idea what those words will become or in which direction they’ll take me. But it’s a hell of a ride. Because in those moments I am playing most freely. I am wholly absorbed. Being entirely spontaneous and lost in the process of creating something new. That is, I’m flying. Ants on Parade was written that way. As was Zero Hour.  […]


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