Jon Zerivitz

Nothing

Headspun and out,

the intoxication of blankness, ringing –

ringing in the ears.

From muted mouth

drools

the scent of snow

on unlined paper.

I’ve written nothing

So I wrote

nothing.

A taste of air

and the taste of ice

on tacky tongue, words

hung at the gallows

paper pole -

Dead before they

drop.

I’ve written nothing

So I wrote

nothing.

Through the unguided

space between ears,

frozen hands

wave wildly –

Intangible as prayer.

I’ve written nothing

So I wrote