z.No Scott

Summer 2024 | Poetry

Two Poems

2 dare 2 say “i like it”

mayB

if i lngr longr

—————————

lie legswide on              that line^

the day won’t last.

a malaise t’thick

& grow black as a lung

i listen but

hummmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

 2 high 4 my larynx

(evernewing)                     (leaning low&left)

i make DAW of myself,

repitching t’sampL

an original hym—

unable harmony…

—songless—

wishing t’amplify an anthill

simply t’distort the song


drool again

u say               

 fill yourself with yourself

i respond,

“but i can only sit in wait for you”,

empty             as this very moment

u say                 

something’s gotta give

&         thinking it was already givN,

i asked for it again.

too numb to notice my hand is       ,again,

empty           of yours

built up                 ,again,

 to be unerected—

as the very wireframe

i’m made of                  (a filagree

you imagined & i         pretended to know

enough — ) a disciple   now

buried wit all the money u sent

for food i couldn’t stomach

i growl   more

you have none.



turns out that

unruly urn  broke

itself, leaked resentment

out its jowl. . .

a dogmouth, youD hoped —

knowing, all along,

i’ve been sinking here,

 

flapping my

gums, working

my lungs    to say,

god is

the space between us.

god is

the time until knowing

 

you, again, said

     nothing.     took breaths calmy.

rutterD no liferaft to

   hear my voice.

hoped the wave was

   goodbye to you.

 

if only i had sunk

quickly to that NoPlace

we know well

instead, somewhere, drowning, atlantic,

the sea shrunk down to my chest 

& your name appeared as fruit 

above me.



if god is

the space between us

i will work to inhale that air 

& if i choke

on what was

    – briefly –         breathing

i will gurgL in the shallow

breath of a burial. . .

i will take in a hollowD gravespace.


you come in

waves now. the way tides can-

not stop to spite

time. they fade, they 

keep coming. i buoy 

now. . .a waterloggD lung.


when i reach my 

tongue to taste your 

pulp, your peel to pit

i sink below the surface.

          i part my lips to gargL salt. 

z.No scott. is the benign ghost, behind the guidepost, disguised in guy’s clothes; a rhizome [comprised of rhinestones] crying in tritones.

A graduate of the CalArts’ Writing & Performativity MFA and winner of the 2022 Emi Kuriyama Thesis Award for his manuscript, ynglytch, z.No’s work can be found in Archway Editions, SPOIL (Hilo Press), second factory (Ugly Duckling Presse), Broken Lens Journal and, soon, The Journal for Dominican Writers. 

z.No performs wherever and whenever he can, always taking it too far.

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