June 28-July 4, 2010: Zola Hjelm and Richard Cody

Zola Hjelm
zolaghjelm@ymail.com

Bio (auto)

Zola is a poet She lives in San Francisco.

The following work is Copyright © 2010, and owned by Zola Hjelm and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author.


He’s Just Lucky

washing cut fingers in salt water
bruised leg, bent back
unraveling the sheets warmed
from between her crotch
the quilt ma made
stained by brewed coffee
poured by his personal waitress
patched with bed bug motel scenes
and rocky drives when they were
young, yearning for each other’s
love they called it
when time was hung
beat bitterly till battered bruises became brilliance
dreams came like the car’s red light
halting for hitchhikers
hillbilly county
riders and where sunshine
never hit under
platinum babes’ fried died hair and signs still read no travelers
but they were no gypsies
the town tried gypping
fruitless pockets and lines came dry
ends of ruby running faces
that rubbing alcohol
stinging metal stench
sterilizing emotion
she was
the beauty at burlesque
bright with dizzy lights
black liner took the curve round her eye
she was worshipped
she was god
she was holy
golden statue well advised to stay but left
with him
him lifting salty cut fingers
candying her served rim

 

_______________________________

Richard Cody
rtcody@gmail.com

Bio (auto)

Richard Cody, born and living still in San Jose, California, has been known to write poetry, fiction, and shopping lists His work, mainly the poetry and fiction, has appeared in many print and virtual publications, most recently Eclectic Flash, Weirdyear, Daily Love, The Dark Fiction Underground, eFiction Magazine, Unheard Magazine, Gloom Cupboard, and Censored Poets.He has fiction forthcoming in Kaleidotrope and who knows where else!? His books can be found at Amazon and Lulu.com.

The following work is Copyright © 2010, and owned by Richard Cody and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author.

 

Everyday I Fool Them All

Sitting in my human skin
at the back of the bus
no one pays me any mind;
they think: “He’s one of us.”