Bubonic Colonic by Zeke Greenwald

Blood gets transfused into my veinsFrom a bag which from the ceiling hangs;Some pipettes from the bottom runLike legs with someone else’s blood. So the maroon cephalopodFloats from the pole it’s fastened on;Staved by a hook, it makes a squid,Who slowly bleeds out drip by drip;I lay below the drying fishOf plastic bag with blood in it. What is blood, but such basic stuff,But blood’s … Continue reading Bubonic Colonic by Zeke Greenwald

Chemical Imbalance by Zeke Greenwald

Were those really bats we sawover the Hinterhof?Or were they birds swirlingto show the evening off? And was it really hemlockWhich grew around the lake?Or was it an umbellifer,Which it wouldn’t kill to take? Was it really all that grey?Were the streets at night so dark?If Berlin was so morose,Luke, I need not pine at all. Yet German doctors wrote you rosesTo combat your stress.And … Continue reading Chemical Imbalance by Zeke Greenwald

Spartan by Zeke Greenwald

In Annie’s apartment there is some stuffFrom which thin things she’s made decorAs if she didn’t just move in there,And life worked out for her before.  Luke rearranged the furnitureIn the room where he’s been living. He uses his space better nowThan he did in the beginning.  I invite you now, look at my room:There’s not much by way of showing.I’ve kept it sparse, not confidentThat … Continue reading Spartan by Zeke Greenwald

Breathed in helium… by Zeke Greenwald

Please do not be kind to me, I think that’d be best; I’m alone and unaccustomed To any easiness. I might cease to struggle forth; I might just lose heart; For I’m tense, and your tenderness Might take me apart. I’m inflated with long patience; I fear your kind relief Might strike the balloon Of my striving grief. I’ve been propelled, light and rigid, And … Continue reading Breathed in helium… by Zeke Greenwald

I called my grandma… by Zeke Greenwald

I called my grandma on the phone To ask about the news: Her neighborhood was down the lives Of some a dozen Jews. There’s a funeral today, and then Another one tomorrow; On Thursday they’ll still inter The victims of the sorrow. On Friday, Grandma goes once more To a funeral, Back in the day Shirley was Her neighbor after all. “Friday is really kind … Continue reading I called my grandma… by Zeke Greenwald

A Sense of Justice by Zeke Greenwald

A sense comes over me of what justice is, and it’s a kiss with two mismatched wetnesses; it’s a sympathy of two shards of vase by faulty glue to keep the tears contained. And though the mouth’s sloppy water might escape because the lip size difference is great we have stopped talking with a sign of pity: pity which makes justice in the living. Continue reading A Sense of Justice by Zeke Greenwald