A.Z. McCoy

A.Z. McCoy Poems

A.Z. McCoy Biography

Lived most of my life in the Mid-Atlantic (PA and VA) . I enjoy a competitive game of chess. My favorite writers are Dostoevsky, David Foster Wallace, Kundera, Joyce, Carver, Atwood, and Julian Barnes, to name a few. Regarding film: Kubrick and Tarkovsky. Roy Andersson, Bunuel, P.T. Anderson, and Bergman too. From Fellini's 8 1/2 to Spike Lee joints to Jarmusch's vignettes. It seems the world is moving to a sadder and sadder fate but I believe that it's for us to choose our subjective positions, without relinquishing our minds to a cultural decay that warps and destroys any true meaning. I majored in history. Favorite philosophers include: Kierkegaard, Sartre, Jesus Christ, Jean Baudrillard, Plato, Locke, Emerson, Gautama Buddha, and Nietzsche- a mixed bag, for sure. I'm somewhat trained in fiction and screenwriting from undergrad, largely learning and reading on my own, yet to produce anything of value in these mediums, the fact of which haunts me and keeps my fingers fevered spidering keys. I have a less-than-an-ideal ear for poetry but am trying to learn and feel it out. My favorite poets include Ondaatje, Hart Crane, Arseniy Tarkovsky, Wallace Stevens, Frost, Whitman, Angelou, Ginsberg, Dickey, Eliot, Pound, Blake, and Gibran. I've worked many jobs: film projectionist during and after college; avionics software tester/engineer, which took me to Buenos Aires for a bit; cabdriver (I like to call this 'cabbiteer') : pest exterminator; home renovator. I work jobs that afford me the time to write but more and more I realize life will be difficult without a 'career' on my CV/resume. So it goes. Sacrifices are necessary and embraced. Best of luck to you, reader, wherever you might be.)

The Best Poem Of A.Z. McCoy

A Flame Lasts A Short Time

A flame lasts a short time
A dream lasts portions of a night
Handheld devices last five years or so
With how the airwaves blow,
Invisible in flight
Skywriting a name, chisel to chest
A mind's ocean billows, soft and expansive torment
Flows and fades in azure mirror's wind

The moment of dream fizzle,
Realizing a pillow
Is not her
Only the mockingbird sings
Different tunes
For a bloom fated to wither

So I'll try any scheme
Any job to get down South
To ride a cloud, ride a jet,
Effervesce on gamma sunbeam
A starlit shroud
To her heaventree spring
Always across this rock's slow turn

Orbits sapin their seasons,
Undeniable
Wink three years in starstruck blink,
I build a pedestal each night
Never to stand as long as seagull flight
In storm
Her name never falls among the disaster

I find a way
Through a broken-down home
The old codgers say
Don't lash to the hypermarket
Each number crunched between hopes
The old field proves not fallow,
Her meadow remains of magic
With traces of freshly fallen snow

But something's awry
I know the daydreams have stilted,
An idol that isn't her
When there's flesh
Breathing through each of her nights
Chill of autumn's deathblow
I count the dying leaves
Before they fall

She dreams, she walks, she wants a home
Far from my imagination
That lurks in frothy seaside foam
She can't be perfect
Through years you walk alone
Footfalls tracing backwards

And I stay true, always finding
A sprout, a hope to groom
A plant for which to sing
The candle's flicker cannot melt a stone
Her flicker dances along tree-lined road,
Beckoning

I don't expect a prima donna
Nor movie starlet, nor easy road
Just a touch a heartskip away
Of her hair in early morn,
Her hair falling from my hand

So I'll risk,
Ride through midnight's long sigh
Check my balances and plan
For her smile and hand
Passing through my nights
A moon laughs grinning

I study your picture
Know every curve of your face,
What I lie beside, pixiled
On a computer screen,
Roams ethereal dream:
When her hand touches my morning
Her morning for me to sing
When I sing her morning dream
That of which I never knew
In conscious hours.

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