| Salt in the Veins Heals deep infections You were always so organic I am learning as I go To hold your mangled hand So what do you say? You could take mine In yours we could Skip the length of the pier While our mothers talked about Forgiveness and recycled souls They would turn when they heard Our bodies hit the water You would have second thoughts But you were never good with making firm decisions I would wrap myself around you like a squid You would struggle, squirm, and kick my arms To release your hand from my grip? You would scream bubbles The echo the echo the echo You would hug me shaking I would pretend you still loved me You are so beautiful when you’re in rage Your eyes would turn white We would breathe the sea Eventually --- ©Zachary Bush 2007 |
| The sun thrives off our confusion
Darling, as you might know, my neighbor Jim is quite old. He has somewhere between 96 and 97 years and so naturally he has trouble with situations of unpredictability. Rather, Jim tends to show his age the most when he’s moaning and kicking his heavy sole against the slate tiles that surround the square edges of the pool, as he is doing right now. Pacing the side length of the pool, old Jim stops and turns around at the far corner. Silent, he glares directly into my eyes, as if I am supposed to know what to do about this, as if we can do anything save for watch you lying on the belly of the pool. I look down and study the top skin of the water, hoping for the rise of a bubble or two, but I see nothing move around you. Darling, Would you please stop staring at me? And Jim, so you mind? I lick my lips. They taste of blood mixed with melted chocolate. My hands are perfumed with the chlorine whisky-sour scent of you, my darling, from running my fingers through your wet red hair. That was, of course, before you turned away to face the water. Jesus Christ, now my neighbor Jim is raising his unsteady arms to the sky. They are above his head in the shape of a V! And he’s cursing my name at the top of his lungs. Will you please stop it! But Jim is connected… He is reporting my identity to the clouds, saying, “Now you see that boy, yes, that boy over there (Jim points to me with his eyes closed). He, he sprinkled salt over the young girl’s naked mind! Were we not raised to believe that salt shocks the brain?” And old Jim continues to confer my guilt (the clouds, the clouds, the…), as if I am responsible for the sun as its light ripples across the water, distorting your breasts into lifeless faces—an exploding light-bulb BLUR(ing). --- ©Zachary Bush 2007 |
| You come on [to] me Like the strange girl In the back row of 7th grade biology Dissection labs picking The scabs off your chin Shaking your head Hiding behind headphones You have me locked in your wide eyes As if I don’t notice your hands Holding the rusty scalpel close Are you ready to open my chest? Cut me if you want me Cut me if you want to have Your way of fulfilling perverted fantasies I CAN be consumed Have you any idea? If you go about it the right way I can be you can open me And see how I taste My blood oil-slick On the tip of your tongue between your teeth Dried around your trembling lips In your red hair you hold our sweat Can you smell me? I am all over you. -- ©Zachary Bush 2007 |