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there is decidedly too much space
between us and the spool

all this rope and not enough bone
within our fingers to get
a good grip


with too many moons having past
to notice any stars from the bottom
of this nightmare dream well—

do we just
drip ?...

s jones


i had wished upon stars once,
picking twinkles in space to
fasten my dreams upon

and the next evening i saw holes
where they used to scintillate,
having fallen from such weight–

i apologized to the sky,
replacing them with
simple hope...

s jones
Mar 2008


i grew up watching men strolling across
the moon on TV, feature films of rockets,
mars monsters and light trips into infinity
and beyond

believing we would be living
in this "future world" by the
year Two-Thousand—

but the imagery of space shuttles parked
along the streets, rocket bubbles zipping
across tree-top avenues and astronauts
spinning end over end while they wash
high rise windows with computerized
squeegees finally came to an end in 2001

realizing thereafter that
we may remain here on
Earth to throw bones at
our adversaries—

until the last one perishes,
still stranded
                         in orbit..

s jones
Mar 2022


i tell myself sometimes–

"Cut !"

when i remember
out of impulse
some bad event(s)

playing on a taped
loop of myself

and denied scissors
capable of putting
ends to it...

s jones
Mar 2022


we are all imaged by those
who would see us at our best

along with the paint that
inevitably chips away
in yearly frosts
and summer

because we will remain
—as always—
the easel upon which
God was inspired to
draw us...

s jones
Feb 2022


from between feathered clouds
of the east through branches of
misguided deeds waving crooked
shadows into the window–

and then

penetrating the skin-tight sheet
that wraps around a throbbing
head into a pair of thin
quivering optical blinds—

the rays of Sunday Morning now
blisters a soul in preparation
for a forgiveness—

from Saturday night...

s jones


comfortably soft
foldings enclosing
warmth around my being,

they may not insure my
safety– yet they do
provide some sense
of security

and perhaps motivation–

my hands reach inboard
along the divides between
flesh and cloth

probing contrasting textures
for a perfect fit of my fingers
into a clasping for rope

pulling for wind—

i slip off with my sail
into an ocean of dreams...

s jones

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