Notes from the Apocalypse


Birds rise
above the alleyway
there’s a clamor
inside me
I can’t identify
as mine or theirs.

Curtain edges
of the empty room
dangerous visions
enter red-faced,
the waking dream
dissolves to shadow.

Death is summoned
from a brief retreat.
I can’t bring to you
a fulfilling anthem,
only a hymn of light
I caught this morning,

One flash shines through,
foggy as it is here,
the sun never illuminates lies;
if we continue
straight ahead,
no way back
might be visible.

Where is the rider
with the sought-for
healing message
to negate the betrayer’s
false point
upon false point?
And where
should the messenger of light
hang their hat?

Someone’s at the door,
but they’re not knocking,
one door
inside another,
who will come in,
who will go out?

To exit
is to find in turbulent,
wasted times,
reasons to struggle;
to enter
is to find more than refuge,
yes, there are full alliances.

Justice rushes out
the double doors,
leaving an ice sculpture
melting in the middle of the floor,
an audio on a sound loop
blasts a self-congratulatory boast
in a language and delivery
so unintelligible
no. living. creature
can absorb it.

Selected byJenn Zed
Image credit:Daniil Silantev

I work with words, sounds and images to come up

with combinations that hopefully do justice to Socrates’

maxim of the whole being greater than the sum of its parts.

I do believe that the voice is a necessary part of the

full poetic experience, along with music and movement,

even if it’s a movement of the hands or eyes.