The End Whisperer by Jay S Zimmerman

The dead whisper to each other tied together by unseen strands of timeless wandering through the wilderness of pain, smeared like paint across the canvas of time, paint like blood, coagulated colors of frost and sweat in children’s screams over centuries of monsters squashing flesh into roads. Light breaks each morning revealing facades of long lost temples and mosques, of skyscrapers and houses, of bones piled high and peeling flesh. Sounds of mourning pierce like spears as corpses carried high make the journey down the river of insignificance. The wheel just turns and turns over days and months and years and decades and the grieving remains the same wherever its loudspeakers blare the voices of the weeping.  The strand will break and we will all soon be scattered into dark black holes and spit out into the hinterlands of infinity.


BIO:  Jay S Zimmerman is an artist, photographer, psychologist and social justice advocate. He has recently been published in Matryoshka Poetry, Three Line Poetry, I am not a silent poet, Curly Mind, and Flying Island, New Verse News, Quatrain.Fish and Rats Ass Review.

and is it madness? by Jay S Zimmerman

circles of



dizzying heights and

fallings into

the abyss

of night


voices in darkness

spears through


untouchable pleasures

she takes you

among the dead fish

on wasted shorelines

polluted garbage mounds

you rest your head

as you taste her

unearthly flesh

and drown


screaming ecstatic yearnings


rise into the clouds


and water trickles

on your parched lips


the voluminous abyss

like a black hole in

deep reaches of space

swallows you

and you dance

through the billion galaxies

at light’s speed