Javascript is either disabled or not supported by this browser. This page may not appear properly.
Richard Zola, England
Richard was born in Guernsey, a small island off the west coast of France, and has left fingerprints/ footprints across the world. Now based in the U.K, he works with those damaged by drugs and people. He's surprised to be alive, frightened sometimes. An interview with him conducted by Billy Marshall Stoneking may be read @
waiting as the bird waits

this may be the last room
the last shadows
on polished wood
your bracelets on the table
birds you painted across the wall
the bowl you made
these yellow flowers
this air on my skin as you pass
this need to taste your teeth
to read the map of your mouth
to press into you
to eat your hair
this stained floor
and your feet
blue veined and painted

this may be the last time
of waiting
for the shift of air
as you open the door
from the street

i came in here i thought you were in the north

& now i'm beyond empty
unmoving on this bed
i'm not like anything
i can hear you talking
in another room
i don't want you
here now with me
only your voice
this space
the curtain moving
the room light darkened
no sounds from outside
& your clothes
falling from a chair

and no holes in your hand or mine

we've seen only darkness
today yesterday
only darkness and artificial light
candles unlit
windows closed
& insects against glass occasionally
i watched you turn pages
take notes
you spoke of footsteps
on iron ladders descending
& doors closing on broken words
now we're in different rooms
i'm here at this table
your fingerprints
engraved on my face
on the table
a blue cloth
the yellow fruit
you stood in rain to buy
& a knife
now you're here
barefoot on woven grass
your breathing is unhurried
as you pick up the knife

when the fruit has been divided
you'll fill your hands with seeds
& throw these hours from the window
into weeds & the skeletons of mice

only the black square of the window

stay all night with me in this room
the other rooms are dark
stay all night with me in this room
we'll drink coffee
piss in the sink
we'll sleep on the table
wrapped in newspapers
we'll read each other
become eloquent in gossip
and political emergency
stay all night with me in this room
the other rooms are dark

the world has disappeared

semen stain on a communion dress (approximately)

and the sound of shoes
something i said
hollowed you
you turn away
green red yellow blue light
on your jacket
the city tilts
the sound of ripping skin
i see you as ordinary
you look at me
away at the chinese window
i want to see you being born

All works copyright Richard Zola