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Four Poems

Zack Borzone

Lift Us Like an Airplane

Things return always
in different forms.

Now the dark is quickly leaving.

My flesh is an envelope
of brightness.

There’s no wound, but
Blood is trickling loudly
into the grass.

I lay my hand over my eyes and see
Sleep as a drowned cat
and a thin assistant locked in a stairwell.

Kitchen Blessing & Punishment

Everything you see is a path,
even the bulls.
You’ll watch them grow into the countertop,
Glass-colored with legs
Trading steps in sync
Like swimmers in a blank spot.

Shame nails your feet
to its own kitchen floor
and leaves you to listen to Sleep
slide a thinning hand lightly in a circle
across the back side
of an invisible, black door.

The Messiah Returns as a Limping Gazelle

He grazes slowly in the countryside.

You can see him,
but you can’t touch.

He lowers his head;
He circles his jaw;
He has an idea.

He grows his horns
deeper into the ground.

He takes me to a golden altar
down in the holy of holies
with a picture of Jesus with limbs
like burning hair.


She’s my friend of a friend:
A black nurse named Early Death.
I know her she’s a penetrator
And she loves to show us, on a doll, exactly
Where the criminal is numb:
The one who hears the wishes of the other
And walks where he pleases.

Zack Borzone is a poet and musician living in nyc.