Zack Carson

Post-Punk Romantics

Her laugh tastes just like a grapefruit; sour,
strange as neon in darkness. Her smell from dreams:
black leather in salt, electricity,
amber, ocean brine. A real razorgirl,
black hair, chromed nails, a bad attitude.
She’s the cloudbust transmission from some place
overdriven / supersaturated /

watery, where the sunbathers avoid.
I feel a nightflower bloom from my skin
when she plants a tongue on me. First time,
eyesight was all red and blue distortion:
the blood spectrum starburst, a harp spiral.
Felt like I’d caught a headbutt from a brick;
I bet this is how the moon kisses your mind.

People howl for so little. Such a bastard
moment when something beautiful and weird
crashes on them like a black chandelier,
these hounds in awe, they cry who hangs on your arm?
Who, her? Don’t you know? This is the moon.

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Zack Carson is a poet and occasional musician from Asheville NC, currently working towards an MFA at the University of North Carolina Wilmington.