Matthew Zapruder Poems

the orange ball arcs perfectly into the orange hoop
making a sound like a drawer closing
...

yesterday at the Oakland zoo
I was walking alone for a moment
past the enclosure holding the sun bear
also known as beruang madu
...

Even though
every morning
I remember
I'm so glad
...

In Milwaukee it is snowing
on the golden statue
of the 1970s television star
...

In Wichita Kansas my friends ordered square burgers
with mysterious holes leaking a delicious substance
that would fuel us in all sorts of necessary beautiful ways
...

these days
sometimes you sleep
in a purple t-shirt
that says Massachusetts
...

strange coin I would call bronze
on what feels like earth's last morning
I stand in the kitchen just holding
...

I like the word pocket. It sounds a little safely
dangerous. Like knowing you once
bought a headlamp in case the lights go out
in a catastrophe. You will put it on your head
...

Friends, what is beauty? Right now for me these paper replicas
I glanced at in a book I did not buy. Paper Toys of the World. I hardly
think of anyone but myself. For a little while right now
...

I hate the phrase "inner life." My attic hurts,
and I'd like to quit the committee
for naming tornadoes. Do you remember
...