Zebulon Huset
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Written as part of the Exquisite Cento project with Jessica Huset
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[Only lines from Robert Lowell, Robert Frost, and Script for The Lost Boys]
They are speeding along a moon-lit beach
(ocean air!)
redolent and roly-poly as a sperm whale
Hey, dude. My beach. My wave—
it is speckled with grime as if
I should prefer to have some boy bend them
a victim of too many afternoons in shopping malls
Use some of it to call home.
The doctor put him in the dark of ether.
He waits.
Stuffed animals of all kinds—
a hundred squirming bloodsuckers
in view of the boardwalk but quite a distance away.
You are the flower that country girls have caught,
the baddest!
Some explode. Some implode.
The bronze weathervane cod has lost half its scales.
She wore her cape; her hat was in her hand.
DISSOLVE TO: SOME IMAGES WE HAVE NOT ALREADY SEEN.
He took a little in his mouth,
(all the while the SOUND of the VAMPIRE MASSACRE continues in the distance)
a little through the lips and throat.
Then she puts down her dish towel and starts to dance.
All the damn vampires,
He says. The highway dust is over all.
Clown faces bobbing—dark images in the carousel.
Skin rancid. Breath foul.
Break silence now or be forever silent.
There are no statues for the last war here.
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[Only lines from Agha Shahid Ali, Countee Cullen, and Script for Gremlins]
‘Little monsters’ are multiplying by the hundreds
like great pulsing tides of wine.
We shall not always plant while others reap.
The creature is smiling. It lets out a giggle.
People need help.
The sliding doors of the fog were opened—
I’m a mere sinner, I’m no infidel tonight.
The sculptor knew this
“Oh my God—”
He draws an imaginary sword from his side—
a dawnless Night may soothe the smart of grief.
“Hey, C’mon…”
He never said a word to me,
a half eaten Big Mac is still in his hand,
the entire theater is engulfed in flames.
Whom else from rapture’s road will you expel tonight?
Sirens wail through Manhattan like elephants,
my rivals for your love. You’ve invited them all?
Clearly, these men were here only to destroy
Some are simple and sweet. Others are ornate and flashy.
Vanity of vanities,
And there are buds that cannot bloom at all
“Maybe I won’t take one.”
Giggling. He takes a drink from his hip flask
When you grow up,
I am content to play the martyr
There are these little things…animals…They’re all over the place!
Out of bullets. He turns to run.
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Zebulon Huset is a public high school teacher, writer and photographer. He won the Gulf Stream 2020 Summer Poetry Contest and his writing has appeared in Best New Poets, Meridian, Smartish Pace, The Southern Review, Fence, and others. He edits the prompt-based Sparked Literary Magazine, which is back from hiatus in 2026.
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Posted in When in Rome: Nov '25 and tagged in #boudin, #poetry, Poetry