Jeff Gan and Zach Matteson March 2020*

J 3/15/20, Z 3/16/20

cleavers, taproots
thick black clay on a spade
mist and damp

bluebonnets shrouded with dew
allergies and viruses 

J 3/19/20, Z 3/21/20

A cough, sniffles
a head turns into elbow
just dogs and chickens 

even the dog knows
in line for bread 

J 3/15/20, Z 3/16/20

turquoise ceramic pot
orphaned planting saucer
cigarette butts

aimless xlr cords
everything feels misplaced 

J 3/19/20, Z 3/21/20

here. who wraps the wires,
puts picks and pecks back
in their useful pockets?

who knocks on the door
who is screaming from the mountain

J 3/15/20, Z 3/16/20

twenty black candles
cobwebs, skulls, vampire teeth
the party's remains

a cemetery of desire
life before the distancing

J 3/19/20, Z 3/21/20

effect; reminders of
how the world is built
and dismantled, too

i have been set in my place
i have been put to bed 

J 3/15/20, Z 3/16/20

bacon fat
frying tortillas in the render
bitter coffee and

enjoying the last rice cup
moving on to the dried bean

J 3/17/20, Z 3/21/20

soaked in water
doubling in size, overnight
magic and brine

all hail the instapot
leading us out of starvation

J 3/15/20, Z 3/16/20

31 minute call
with mom, dad, aunties
breath and oil on glass 

thinking about the connection
of shared grease experiences

J 3/19/20, Z 3/19/20

slipping between us
ooze of human relationships
too messy for a wipe

like the angel of death
it doth seek us, it doth ooze us 

J 3/15/20, Z 3/16/20

buzz of an amp
shiny red ibanez, no pedals
overdrive

this bee lives in overdrive
heat your house with fluttering wings

J 3/17/20, Z 3/21/20

humid, warm breath
of an insect’s will to be;
distortion

it has gone quiet now
in war, only the crickets chirp 

Z 3/16/20, J 3/19/20

construction zone
or quarantine zone
both have plastic 

hearts in their core
each beat squeaking out 

Z 3/16/20, J 3/19/20

this house feels naked
covered in tarps and metal
a strange moth, cocooned 

i turn to blush, embarrassed
by its brazenness 

Z 3/16/20, J 3/19/20

furniture scattered 
years of untouched dust
on yellow pillows

the heaping pollen of a flower
in endless hope of a friend

Z 3/16/20, J 3/19/20

talk to windows
thank them for their service,
their crystal portals 

nod back, a knowing smile
flat as a march puddle 

Z 3/16/20, J 3/19/20

stiff bristles
the mouth of the great blue whale
or a dirty broom

sweeping across a barren seafloor
hillocks of dust and grit

Z 3/16/20, J 3/19/20

within this belly
a new kind of fire
that good instinct 

whispering into you; no
words yet, just round vowels 

*Due to a happy misunderstanding, this Renga wasn’t necessarily completed in chronological order but rather in a series of poetry “dumps.” What came out was to me a super loose and fast Renga masterpiece.

Zephan Matteson and Zach Matteson March 15-17 2020

Ze 3/15/20, Za 3/15/20

world held by fear
disease dripping through the door
life through a window     

mist clings to grandfather’s car
smells of fear in the rice aisle 

Ze 3/15/20, Za 3/15/20

o’ save us our god
god of sanitization
answer to our prayer

40 days and 40 nights
in the desert of our souls 

Ze 3/15/20, Za 3/16/20

wandering always
spirit unconfined by law
searching for our cure

drift out over the city dreams
find meaning in the night

Ze 3/16/20, Za 3/16/20

chaos and worry
find solace in the masses
can we know the truth 

banging on my window frame!
death and construction workers

Ze 3/16/20, Za 3/16/20

o’ the solitude
lamenting the days gone by
on the toilet seat

better than dying alone
like herod, eaten by worms 

Ze 3/16/20, Za 3/16/20

the worms of our life
feast on us as well today
rot of the apple

bananas, oranges, fruit all
await their time in the dirt 

Za 3/16/20, Ze 3/16/20

television screens
phone screens screaming vibrations
full of hope/despair 

hope and despair both recede
at death’s unhurried knocking 

Za 3/16/20, Ze 3/16/20

philosophizing
explorative jaunt into
the serpents maw 

take up the sword of knowledge
girded by your privilege 

Za 3/16/20, Ze 3/16/20

low squat position
muscles lock, spasm, release
euphoric nerve juice 

sweat and blood mingle in a pool
bacteria gorge themselves 

Za 3/17/20, Ze 3/17/20

tarps crinkle, snap, pop
workers still laboring
putting me to shame 

there is much I want to eat
but no food, there is no food

Za 3/17/20, Ze 3/17/20

and I did take bread
and break it, covering it
with butter and jam 

as the wheel turns I do
reborn each day in boredom

Za 3/17/20, Ze 3/17/20

the city empty
the people six feet apart
walk around the block

lonely streets, empty your mind
lambs led to the slaughter house

Kara Pleasants and Zach Matteson March 15-19 2020

K 3/15/20, Z 3/15/20

sacred sunday still
into the woods—crush sweet birch
(smell winter green)

a new temple, unfolding
with time, self-discovery 

K 3/15/20, Z 3/15/20

only kills old people
they laugh. “nah, that shit ain’t
funny—I got asthma”

streets quietly emptying 
cover your doorway in blood

K 3/16/20, Z 3/16/20

black dirt, rows piled high
red, purple, gold potatoes
mourning dove calling 

wash hands with dish soap, wishing
for hands covered in dark soil 

K 3/16/20, Z 3/16/20

sweep floors vacuum piles
“what are you doing?” nora says
(see how often I clean?)

this house gave up long ago
dust on dust on dust on me 

K 3/16/20, Z 3/16/20

f**k carpe diem
I have two grandmothers
I want to keep alive

nervously paced dusty footprints
cancel everything now please? 

K 3/17/20, Z 3/18/20

prophet’s prediction
2nd market crash to 15k
100k patients by April

break the yokes off our backs
[we] all shall be rebuilt

Z 3/18/20, K 3/18/20

bible packed up
inside this mirror, the man
trees sprouting reborn 

time stretches out--orange cat
in the sun. apocalypse now?

Z 3/18/20, K 3/18/20

morning reverie
a call to action! to hope!
...just construction noise. .  .   .

offering: five emails sent—
let’s prepare! response? zero.

Z 3/18/20, K 3/18/20

The Return: Part One
back at HEB, empty
flour gone, bread gone, eggs gone, hope...

...lives in the amazon truck
dropping peach purée baby food

Z 3/18/20, K 3/18/20

Part Two: The Return
home at last, shopping bags full
of corn meal, honey 

sugar cookies in the shape
of shamrocks, half whole wheat flour

Z 3/18/20, K 3/19/20

on the daily walk
the neighborhood brimming bright
blooming blue bonnets

forsythia through 12 panes
gold bells against a gray sky

Z 3/19/20, K 3/19/20

and so he got up
the whirring coffee grinder
ready to greet him 

sees even the cardinal couple
red keep a six foot distance

Ruta Kuzmickas and Zach Matteson Spring 2020

R 3/15/20, Z 3/15/20

strewn across houston
my fingerprints on doorknobs
mud bonds to my boots

oily, smudgy iphone screen
grasps for the alcohol swab 

R 3/15/20, Z 3/16/20

my sea legs walked me
cat with a bird in its jaws
tearing its right wing

this earth bestows many signs
prophetic birds sing. sleep. die.

R 3/16/20, Z 3/17/20

sleep. wake. wash your hands.
relearn how to measure time.
redefine “right thing”.

time’s hourglass has frozen
people, like sand, filter home 

R 3/18/20, Z 3/20/20

and turn the hourglass
sideways. limbo settles in
wool over our eyes

thunder’s call after midnight
shattering glass mirrors of, me 

R 3/20/20, Z 3/20/20

you, both of us
propped up in bed, still writing,
piecing, amending

bitter coffee stains the mug
our mind’s fuselage full up

R 3/20/20, Z 3/21/20

why not another
pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey
*blame, *extra caffeine

slowly opening, eyelids
lifting up, the coffee tin

Z 3/21/20, R 3/22/20

unknown color of
rain pouring down the city
scaffolding creaks, moans 

what’s the color of silence,
or the blink of rain pausing

Z 3/23/20, R 3/23/20

around the room, clothes
coffee mugs, coffee stains, cof-
-fee ling so behind 

some things have always been up-rooting, like houston sidewalks

Z 3/24/20, R 3/27/20

at the vacant lot
purple martins sweep the sky
preparing their nests 

stirring from their shut-eyed perch
sing away the solitude

Z 3/28/20, R 3/29/20

fan dances overhead
eyes flitting back and forth, back 
both alone, rooted 

sleepless, staring together
closed blinds resemble washboards 

Z 3/30/20, R 3/30/20

carve a perfect shape
into soft, crumbly soapstone
while rain carves our world 

fourteen syllables should not
take this long to come up with

Z 4/1/20, R 4/1/20

two weeks in my room
notches scratch the wallpaper
books, cups, dreams, pile up 

around your bed, an island
kept afloat by seas of dust 

Catie Medlock and Zach Matteson Spring 2020

C 3/15/20, Z 3/15/20

Sleepy cat snoring
“Life a stupid rotten mess”
Sounds of quarantine

cat hair clinging to the couch
friendly reminder to smile 

C 3/15/20, Z 3/16/20

Sniffing at the air
Golden eyes slowly closing
Peace found in chaos

waking from a dream of sleep
fuzzy black hair on the tile 

C 3/16/20, Z 3/16/20

Eyes wide, preparing
Ferocious predator stalks
Butt wiggles, attack!

eyes narrowing, butter melts
toast devoured by man beast 

C 3/16/20, Z 3/17/20

Staring at a screen
Work or play, life becomes one
Finding new routine

doors open the possible
also open the probable 

C 3/17/20, Z 3/18/20

Scrolling through options
Potential lives before me
What will come, will come

“will come” will come in
have a seat at the table 

C 3/18/20, Z 3/19/20

Sanitize, clean, wash
Fumes from plumes of chemicals
Don’t breathe, short breaths in

in the bathtub, salt melts
deep breaths carry away pain 

Z 3/21/20, C 3/21/20

the restless weather
reflecting the restlessness
within the bones, guts 

Dreams of distant sunshine there
When will it be here again

Z 3/23/20, C 3/23/20

bright yellow notepad
fresh coffee, banana bread
the new day awaits 

Books stacked high, journals empty
Plenty to do in this world

Z 3/24/20, C 3/24/20

vacuum packed away
bad toilet flapper replaced
victories at war! 

Cat zoomies like tornadoes
Lose the battle, win the war 

Z 3/26/20, C 3/26/20

latex glove – blue, used
laying crumpled in the street
monarch drifts by, waves 

Mother Earth wants us to sleep
She needs time, time to repair

Z 3/28/20, C 3/31/20

lazy saturday
wiping off the cart with bleach
spring rains bring the heat 

News buzzes around my head
Idiots abound, “fuck off”

Z 4/7/20, C 4/7/20

yellowish flower
pouring down the dirty drain
restart the starter 

Wash, wash, wash my hands all day
Where will all of this end up

Ben Stevenson and Zach Matteson Spring 2020

Z 3/15/20, B 3/15/20

airplane engines roar
over my balcony clouds
what do your wings bring?

Masses of masked passengers
En unsafe route to safety

Z 3/15/20, B 3/16/20

Car sounds drift lazily
Through misty street lamp shadows
The city, still breathing

Still walking, still colliding
Still fresh, yet with new stillness

Z 3/17/20, B 3/18/20

in the late morning
the plastic round my window
breathing like a lung

Again, the sun finds low tide
Another day without touch

Z 3/18/20, B 3/18/20

on the horizon
storms bringing beautiful life
to these blossoms yet

Inevitability
Of the yearly wildflowers

Z 3/20/20, B 3/20/20

steadily turning
ceiling fan marches onward
guess some things don’t change

Having traveled miles and miles
Remaining stationary

Z 3/22/20, B 3/27/20

empty coffee cups
standing like tall, toy soldiers
smells of fresh bread, rain

Did I get bit by an ant?
I turn around at the lake

B, Z

Who cares about goals
Tomorrow sets out its tent
While falling asleep

yesterday was tomorrow
until today came along

B, Z

An old rubber band
Long and short at the same time
Cyclical motion

the earth rolls round it’s partner
tugging us along the way

B, Z

Taking a break from
Its eternal do-si-do
To catch a long breath

the long pause of the evening
cool breezes fill us with life

B, Z

Sip on some water
Pause the nature on your screen
Less fun to watch alone

press play on the video
learn how to feed sourdough

B, Z

Rotate, separate
Illusions. Learn how to mime
Acquainting yourself

magic after the spring rain
watching the field come to life

B, Z

Dripping paint flowers
Rising with the weeds, their friends
All soon to be mowed

in the peace of our quiet
we all find our time to grow