Presumed journeys
by
Mishka Zakharin
SMASHWORDS EDITION
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PUBLISHED BY:
Mishka Zakharin on Smashwords
Presumed Journeys
Copyright © 2012 by Mishka Zakharin
Originally Appearing in ‘Bastard Imagery in Shakespeare’,
Infinity Publishing © 2006
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
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“Few authors can entertain, make you laugh, evoke emotion, (possibly) offend you… and make you think—let alone all of the above. Mishka Zakharin is one such author. Even if you don’t consider yourself a poetry buff, you are sure to find something in his writings that will hold your interest and keep you turning the pages…”
- Dana Grizzél, examiner.com
“Zakharin averts existential absurdity by exploring, with candid wit and keen observation… Zakharin’s work is honest and subversive. Dark humor just got brighter. Mishka and his murky musings… truly talented—an unusual voice.”
- Shannon Sloan-Spice, B.A. Writing/Philosophy, UW—Waukesha
“…readers will feel inspired and learn a lot about the power of words. You will either fall deeply in love or run for the hills…”
- Cori Lark, author of Electric Ink and Corina
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Presumed Journeys
Contents:
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So where am I?…
(but what are you?…)
Becladdened in a nebulous disarray
of nominally kinetic potentialities,
enveloped in an imminent nimbus
of over-glorified what-have-you,
I wander through a morass of opaque unrealities;
degenerate matter rains down over me,
a subtly cloying display of perfunctory contradiction,
and I float freely through oblivion,
drifting in search of something of substance
to come into reach, that I might grab onto,
to reestablish a sense of stability and control…
(But now I realize
I merely ramble
through a field of
pseudo-psycho literary babble,
a nearly spring-time glade of
purposefully philosophical verbosity—
trip on a rock
and do a header
into a stream of obscenities…
(ah—and right
where I needed them!…)
but I gash open my forehead,
and the crimson irony of
my life's blood
flows over my eyes,
shading the world
in a surreal aura of
intended proclivity and
the endeavoring impetus of
soul-stirring passions…
moistened throughout
by my adventures,
I can’t help but wonder…
what the hell was my point?!?…)
* * *
—from ‘The Gileadean’
Sitting around the pool,
chatting, reminiscing, and telling jokes—
rambling aimlessly and endlessly
as we order yet another pitcher of margaritas
and watch the trees burning all around us…
Suddenly, the world goes black—
lightning shatters the sky;
thunder rattles our being,
scatters our thoughts…
we wander for months in the wilderness
before finding ourselves in the Middle Ages
(though, in truth, really rather at the earlier part
of the very latest Middle Ages…)—
and the adventure begins!…
Amidst the dire actions
of over-zealous zealots and unmindful Moors,
our shenanigous intentions go all unhindered—
but for our friend the Pope,
who has traded in his vestured livery
for a spunky cape of sparkly blue
(though he has retained his big, floppy papal hat);
he nay-says our every endeavor—
yet then, out of nowhere it seems,
the Renaissance comes soaring through,
buzzing low and clipping me in the shoulder,
hurling me to the ground in an enlightened splay
of befuddled and resurgent peace, good will, and new learning….
I do one final dive from the high-board,
swim a few laps, and then go to get dressed for dinner;
the night passes without incident—
with the dawning of a new day
there comes lucidity and redemption,
and so we put our clothes on and leave
—I shit you not….
* * *
She catches my eye
with a furtive glance
to see if I’m looking;
when I turn to her,
to grasp the intent
of her attention,
she quickly looks away
as if I had been staring…