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Thursday, March 26, 2009


by Cary B. Ziter

Self confidence and the dove have flown.
Marrow swells in slumber, in the dizzy monotone.
Inane diplomacy rules cold slate clouds.

The flat water of my living room brings television
talk of adored warheads and subtropical pain killers
that no longer help abused genitals.

For three unemployed months the ringlet curl has unwound
and I have sat here missing my manager's daily interrogation,
his buffed leg irons applied to ankles, attitude, eye lids.

Crime over love, blood over heart; they'll never take
me back. The Brooks Brothers suit has given way to soap
opera as sick as the tobacco itching my yellow teeth.

Soon I will write down all my prime investments,
dine on stored sonnets, on disputes and tragedies,
live only to forget the recent past.

And shudder at the hissing sounds in my head, voices
full of falsity that roll in like wild funeral grief
each time I plead for new relief.

Cary B. Ziter is the author of three published books for young readers. He earned his MFA from Bennington College and currently resides in upstate New York.