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i think of summer solstice as
a reminder for God to let the
earth back down

it's not supposed to
stay up there forever—

that's what kids are for...




s jones
Jun 2024



.
I see wires naked
all machines dancing.
Sociopaths are prancing
I turn my hand around and
all the lines on my palms
are full of ***** traffic.

Even when our lives are sleeping
our souls are slaughtering friends.
Dress in black to pretend sorrow
for their inevitable ends.

I stay in the car an extra moment
and don't turn the key.
in a sepia of symphonies.
my loneliness is your sea.

this morning,
there was a mother walking
her little girl to school
hand in hand,
and they swung their arms
in seconds and hours.

this afternoon,
a woman threw her ball
and her dog ran and chased
dropped it by her feet,
and there was love in them
and she ruffled his face
and let him lick her nose
like wet snow does.


Tonight the clouds bloomed
black blood and the graffiti
on the walls of factories had run,
the bins were overflowing,

The train rattled and hummed on the
El tracks, slowly crawled to its knees
delivering me to the busy emergency
shot in my vein and shot in my back.

I don't know
our place in all of this.
city of big shoulders.
hog butcher and this
paradise purgatory.

this waiting room
of fate and throwbacks
this sick bed,
this snow covered meadow
of a blank page.
this black mirror.

I was lost in mutation years ago,
pulling out the wires,
scratching off the barcodes,
turning tricks.
flocking licks.
walking backwards
through the
wreath of my own ribs.
holding back something,
maybe complete collapse.

I don't know
if the universe
is fair if you pray
or just persist.

a single raindrop dancing  ballet
   on the windshield after falling,
streaking, blooming in a rivulet
of the God awful calling.

take a breath
and go inside
to the funeral
minister speaking
soothing lies
as we say
our goodbyes
nobody cries.
Like
pond water

agitated
with a stick

that
became muddy

we were

but are much
clearer now

and no journey
was ever necessary

you and I made a home
right here

at the edge
among the reeds
A word painting with a straightforward message.
If there wasn’t anyone
to see the change
change would still happen
change would become
Transcendence imploding
inside of itself
birthing the moment
birth zero-sum

(The New Room: June, 2024)
there's something about

a cardinal, flitting across

saturated woodchips after

a downpour.

as if throwing back air in a

looksy of: fly.

whose tree cover tantalizes

a resonance that treats the peace

between wetness & color.
we look for sand
there is a nice long beach and lovely views out to sea
the sea that is rising
Today is a mistake, an aberancy
of time. The facts please.

No.

There are no facts when you
love someone.

The day, like a Harlequin novel
opens. The goblet in her hand
falls, the flowers can't catch up.

Think of spilling love like
milk.
You can never save
the white oil slick spreading.

Tomorrow will never come,
There will be only 15 minutes
of night.  

Memories
crawling into daylight

unexpected,

Finally,

constellations
slide across the sky.

The final ending:

“ your appointment with (sorrow) death
was always to be

here.”

Caroline Shank
6.13.2024


Agatha Christe
***
****** angel slept

in silence

softly curled into a ball

a sweet song in nylons spirited

away in dream rapture
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