unraveling
i become an empty sky starving for someone
in need of a silence to deify

Every morning,
I am an evening person.

-

A displacement exists,
yet specifics defy the
scope of my radar,

sensing amiss like a
fellow would perceive
an absent billfold or

the way a hen may
feel one egg less
in her nest.

A lack exists for detection,
whether it be far away
or way too close,

it's gravity pulling me
toward the last glimpse
of it before fading into black.

Not so obvious as a
matador might lose
his cape to the bull

Yet,

somehow i just Know,
with question marks
drizzling about—

sweating beneath the
skeletal remains
of my umbrella...


s jones
© 2020


.

Sixteen pages now covered
in my swirly writing,
untouched chalky leaves
rustle with veiled future



A story is yet to be told.

Years since acquaintances,
Months since 'You and I',
Fortnights since 'We',
Weeks since  "I love you's"
Days since separation,
Hours since your 'Goodbye',
Minutes since tears,

Not even a second since you.

Unfinished notes,
Unheeded lessons,
Distracted mind,
Stolen glances,
Fantasies in the day,
Dreams at night,
Chasing a lost cause,
Lovelorn.
Two years later,
I’m still only two benches away from you,
Yet you are a thousand miles away.

For months,

I've been wandering,
through winding
silences

hoping
I'd find your chaos
one day.

I would like to pay you my feelings,
Which are true and incredibly deep,
But I also want a receipt.

The autumn rains are queuing to the poets,
To be described, and nostalgically loved.