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Zan Agzigian

A flame from Sandra, both eyes open—
A tape recorded organ drones,
A spirit forces them for pardon
So full of tears and telephones.
In insulated Spokane houses
October Spokane windy punches
Handled our hearts with sleight of hand
In absolute pastures of chambered grassland.
Zan caught the truth and sent it flying
Inside our music, note for note
To help survive the spring time bite
Of being born while busy dying.
No fooling Zan’s become this place,
There is a God, she found the trace.

Comments

  1. Jonathan Webb says:

    Nice.

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