Life wears me out with its
twists and turns, and
hairpin curves.
I keep waiting for a
long, peaceful stretch
of highway, bathed in
the rising sun.
A golden wheatfield to
to the left, a moss covered
pond with dragonflies to
the right.
The road turns to gravel,
and climbs rapidly uphill.
There are signs along the
way that promise the world.
The road gradually turns
to dirt, and ultimately
disappears.

Every pattern is a cudgel to pain
Every equation rings out your reign

Its on the whispers and tirades of the wind
Its in the ripple of water and crashing waves of the sea

Each sinew tugged at and tortured
Frayed nerves screeching and screaming at me

Begging for the holy oil,
the balm of relief
The anointing of peace

Yet even that hope lies shattered
in the broken pieces of usefulness  

Dis-ease
distorted harmonics resonating agony
where once was perfect and sound cohesion

Each moment now a taught tension
a pugnacious trap for excrutiation

Every device is a loaded trigger for wretched pangs all I want to to do is merely write
Of beauty and hope to soothe

What sabotage for a poet
Whose pain enscription was a grateful muse

I find nothing of comfort
Because, every idea breathes nothing but signals heralding yet more and more pain

Just like the photo of us dancing in the rain
I feel like it might never happen again

Memory is a Pain upon a pain
Mnemonics are the seat of my suffering again

And your mighty reign of anguish
An insanity that devours me

But I will not succumb
I will remain

I will come through this somewhat sane
And you'll be that forgotten memory
I refuse to let inside my brain

The rent will be sky high
And I WILL BE ME AGAIN!

-

the hands–
they still move

when i was too little
to know what it was,

i slobbered all over it
and knocked it over

daddy would just
wipe it off

check the time

and put it back on
the night stand

—

they still move...



s jones
2023




.

If all of this looks normal
And never once makes you blink
If you ride the tide to whatever side
Flows into group think

If you do all they tell you to
And then ask them for more
If you play their game and all receive the same
Trophy at the door

If you nod in Bobble Head fashion
With their version of the truth
Never stepping off to question
Then maybe you've been brainwashed too

If you scream out heebie-jeebies
When opposite shows it's hand
And instead of calmly asking
It's more of a demand

If you turn blue when you talk green
And all you see is red
If in your realm of tolerance
You wish the other side was dead

If your blindfold covers both heart and head
On what is the gospel truth
The only conclusion there is left
Is maybe you've been brainwashed too