zooey ghostly is a small blue pot of garlic blossoms, spilled off of the fire escape. their work has appeared in several journals that seemingly no longer exist. their poems and photographs have been collected in various chapbooks, most of which can be found online, somewhere.

how many little bones does it take to break a cloud

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you’ll want boots for today. and your favorite wool coat.

sink into the earth with every movement, follow the map of greylight

veining thru the germaphobic evergreens. which blooms

are poisonous. which mushrooms. use the illustrations

to find the right ones, the ones we can cook in redwine and butter

and eat together on the rug before the castiron stove. add a log,

kiss my ear, there’s no such thing as family. we keep going.

our socks are hanging to dry, and you're running a bath at the end

of the world. let's get in together. tangled fruit and bruised forage.

warm history. still-being-here. let's get in together, and sink.

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field recordings of seagull songs

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what if we escaped by ocean liner. found oysters. the last lemon.

the sea speaking french, monologuing forever. we keep the camera,

filmless. we walk out onto the deck and pretend to smoke long cigarettes.

we follow our breath. follow the water’s breath. we pretend to take pictures

of eachother in our seafaring fashion. we hold our poses long enough.

we imagine painting eachother in thick oils that never dry.

the ocean is always there, waiting. its mouth is open

and throat endless and i know someday

i will be pulled in, and swallowed. but for now wait right there,

your hair is perfect in that light, and i want to capture every bit of this.

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