The Significance of Sparrows

By Zoey Miller


We were bruised souls

With bleeding, busted lips and tattoos and pugilistic hearts,
Grown taunt and heavy from the sheer fabric of being
The moments weighing heavy on us like the broken bodies of comrades slung over shoulders
Charging one last trench
One last mound
Our muscle and sinew stretched
Hearts already broken by the mere promise of our future selves

We celebrated the names of dead pop stars
Like a pantheon of saints and angels
Littering their grave sites with cigarettes and booze and condoms and love
Excreting all of ourselves into ideals that never wanted us
Never loved us
False idols
Absent fathers

We carry our fists clenched.
Minds open.
We were the poetry of the proletariat
Beautiful, small, wondrous birds
In a loud, big world
With their car horns and curse words and mid coitus screams drowning out our chirps and sing­song coos
Songs that we use to get us through the day shifts and the night shifts and the prostitution in between

Who so ever it deemed­
that a dandelion wasn’t a flower
Has never been to a goddamn strip club

FB_IMG_1470101351120Zoey is primarily concerned with moments. Are we defined by them? Do they accumulate one after the next until they create a clear image of who we are? Or do we objectively exist above and outside them? Zoey likes to create spaces in his writing to explore these questions along with the reader.

His inspirations are Noam Chomsky, hip­hop music, Salinger, and most forms of whiskey.

He currently resides in central Ohio where he wages a not­so­silent war against all things mundane.


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