"Gutherie's America"
I can only dream
in the vast immensities
of America's past.
There is nowhere
else to go.
Just close your
eyes upward toward
the skull & see the
open land from
a rusted boxcar
and listen to
the boxcar men
tell stories of Denver
in the winter and of
Los Angeles in the
summer.
Smell the burning of
coal in your nose
and feel the soot
settled inward toward
your nostrils.
Breathe in the
smoke from this
locomotive & from
the city that was
just passed a ways
back & choke
choke for what
has been lost.
Admire the beauty
of a blade of grass
and let the dirt surround
your head--turn head
upward toward
the sky & see the dark
spread out all long
the sky & wonder
in it's immensity.
A true philosopher
is learned in this
way.
I can only dream
in the vast immensities
of America's past.
There is no where
else to go and
nothing else to
learn.
Zach King-Smith
I was born & bred in a small New England town, where the winters are cold & the air is not quite so clean. Early childhood was good but not great. Invalid father dying before eyes of not even five years old. Mother was a nurse, worked 12 hour days cam home took care of us then a bottle of wine to the room. I was a "momma's boy" no doubt about or shame in my heart of it. Aged 10 Zach's father died-more relief for him anyhow. Aged 12 Mommy died. Orphaned with a brother and a sister. Doctors call it Post Traumatic Stress. Anxiety & depression marked with obsessive behavior. Cared more about music than anything else for years. Melodies never end for good. Read Ginsberg poem fell in love with the visions of the back of the mind reel. Then Kerouac Then Burroughs & Micheline & Kaufman & Carver & Bukowski. Their words were more real than anything else. I wrote for three years straight, quite terrible poetry. Conversation with a close friend turned the poetry around in July of 2008. I have an chapbook coming out of Epic Rites Press in July of 2009.
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