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1d · 220
seasoned children

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

Oct 2023 · 316
the wake
Seranaea Jones Oct 2023

my father's stone finally replaced
the aluminum marker issued to him
after some months waiting

when i visited, i removed
this weathered plate

and then

stood for a moment—

hoping that he
might have

a perceptible bounce

after years of stilled
waters between us...

Apr 2023 · 280
unfiltered contact
Seranaea Jones Apr 2023

illumination will conspicuously
reveal details only after such a
boorish tangency of skin can be
excused for dim–witted attempts
at enveloping one's entire surface...

s jones

Apr 2023 · 375
officially off city limits
Seranaea Jones Apr 2023

what can be said
about a library
depopulated of
forbidden books—

when the librarian is
legally prohibited from
conveying information
to anyone about
its contents


s jones

Mar 2023 · 802
daddy's clock
Seranaea Jones Mar 2023

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

Mar 2023 · 522
dining with the masters
Seranaea Jones Mar 2023

why is it that on certain
occasions i cannot

 )—* ~Poetry~*—(


this exquisite food-for-thought
which tumbles like shot rock
into my belly-bag underneath
the dining room table

usually due to an absence of a
detailed chewing on my part

there persists
this terrific hunger—

thus on some evenings
you will find me
my own dinner...

s jones

Mar 2023 · 408
a family of walls
Seranaea Jones Mar 2023

joined by an imaginary sinew,
four walls featuring dust
compressed into sheet rock

face away from one another.

smooth within and
on the outside,

like so many houses in
this neighborhood–

everyone is insulated from the
empty stares over so much
strewn building material

yet —somehow—we are
protected from the rain

the oldest wall
no longer

the others slowly

my wall—

shedding tears like
tiny shells piling
upon a beach

breaks with the
waves into
shards of sand—

leaving ashes 

s jones

sorry that we never
Aug 2022 · 427
leaky bucket
Seranaea Jones Aug 2022

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

Apr 2022 · 630
a wish too far
Seranaea Jones Apr 2022

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

Mar 2022 · 544
2001 lies in spacetime
Seranaea Jones Mar 2022

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

Mar 2022 · 399
real to real
Seranaea 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

Feb 2022 · 447
a finger painting of souls
Seranaea Jones Feb 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

Feb 2022 · 569
Sunday servicing
Seranaea 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

Feb 2022 · 815
sleep sailing
Seranaea Jones Feb 2022

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

Jan 2022 · 7.8k
center of gravity
Seranaea Jones Jan 2022

all my mistakes in life
add weight to a scale
of self-judgement–

so far i sense
a balance—

yet it feels to me like
i've let so much ballast
get washed overboard...

s jones

Seranaea Jones Dec 2021

Momma died two decades ago,
she would have turned
seventy-eight to—day

i woke up and spoke with her
this morning, imagining her
with a long red Irish mane

about Daddy being laid up in a
nursing home, my brother and
i hoping to fix him before he
finally gives up

she said—  "nothing"

i think maybe this is because
she long ago saw the lights
up ahead, in a place where
human conversation would
be considered archaic

and birthdays rendered
as undefined

she is illuminated within it now,
there to later show the way for
the rest of us who continue
marking our calendars

as we persist here on Earth—
still enumerating yesterday,
to–day, and tomorrow...

s jones
30 Dec 2021

Happy Birthday Momma...
Dec 2021 · 263
Seranaea Jones Dec 2021

when the dinosaur roamed the earth
they made little dinosaurs that would
later wander upon its surface,

following in the footsteps of
their ancestors.

something fell from the sky
and made them all stop–

passing down to creatures of
the future a few precious bones,
fossilized feathers and footprints..

when mankind roams the earth
they make little men that will
wander upon its surface,

following bigger men.

something they have fashioned will
escape control and make them all stop–

leaving only to what few creatures
that may survive their presence—

an abundancy of ****...

s jones

Dec 2021 · 320
a gift of rights
Seranaea Jones Dec 2021

the Clause read–

"by signing, you agree to have
your imagery and collected works
manifested into any digital scenario

chosen by the staff, associates and
management of this organization
throughout perpetuity"


does this mean Bob Dylan and
George Lucas might appear
side-by-side on TV some
Christmas Eve

as dying trees ornamented with
numerical fruits which dangle
from their frames like the

links of Marley's chains ?

given his extensive background
on the subject, Santa knows full
well this will eventually happen...

s jones

Dec 2021 · 398
shells & cheddar with ham
Seranaea Jones Dec 2021

decades ago this was a tasty
quick meal between ten
hour shifts and sleep

tangy cheese in a metal container
that i cooked on a burner as the
shells boiled to a full fluff nearby

i mixed in some diced ham that
in of itself could have filled
a morning omelet,
had i the time—

to—day’s products consist of
much smaller shells that boil
into gooey blobs

and cheese– sealed in some kind
of chemically pre-melted state
inside of a silver bag,

and ham—

packed in smaller cans–
very much tasting like
the machines that process it.

i wonder now what level of
creature is low enough to
be able to live off of this

to within what measure
of survival


if in fact this stuff
could actually be
eating  it...

s jones

Dec 2021 · 223
the perplexity of clouds
Seranaea Jones Dec 2021

have you wondered how most of your
personal and medical information is
now documented by outside parties
on distant servers ?

you could imagine right off that it is not
quite like a filing cabinet with hand written
tabs that help sort important papers which
will reliably remain where you left them–


much of the data is actually scattered
on "clouds" into positions that were
immediately available when it was
acquired and then deposited

so one may discover digital fragments of
a chat-room dialogue residing adjacent to
a photo of someone's aunt's latest birthday
cake creation, which in turn is situated

into areas where web browsers have placed
ad's about **** undergarments and software
storage solutions, very possibly right next to
the last character that you typed—

all this should be easily re-assembled on
demand if one clicks on the icon which
represents the thing being retrieved,

except for the fact that numerical crumbs
are inevitably shaken loose from improper
bit-positioning schemes, made possible
within a digital bureaucracy bent on sorting
through your under-ware.

i wonder now if tech will
advance to a level that renders

"Going to Heaven"

into being irretrievably saved
forever into clouds that wander
aimlessly adrift over Hell ?

­s jones

Nov 2021 · 534
long distance backstroke
Seranaea Jones Nov 2021

what do you say to someone
you love from such a distance ?

a stroke could be measured by
how far it is from the first floor
to the intensive care unit

or from the steering wheel
to the door **** of the
hospital entrance

or from your drive way to
the spot where you have to
pay for parking

or from the handset of
your telephone to his ear—


you can only
into it—

"i love you Daddy"

and hope this time
he can feel your

s jones
Nov 2021

Nov 2021 · 252
the wisdom of teeth
Seranaea Jones Nov 2021

i never actually thought i would
live long enough to experience the
surfacing of all my wisdom teeth–

when my fourth one began to throb
and push aside the tooth next to it,
i felt the pain like a spark plug
in my jawbone

but i drank no alcohol
for it that time

i wanted to bath in its presence
as it chewed its way out
because it was my
              very last

a knowledge earned from
this Last Rite of Passage

a rebirth of myself through
the gum line of aging tissue—

this crowning new thing you
will never have enough
of anymore...

s jones

Nov 2021 · 1.6k
an accounting of small steps
Seranaea Jones Nov 2021

There were five of us working late
when i saw this creature crawling
rapidly across the concrete floor-

one of the employees counted the
legs on its right side, he said there
were seven-teen of them–

more than enough
to carry all of us

We left it be to continue its destiny
in this place where we must make
our living as everything else dies
outside in a midnight autumn frost

A curious distraction,
this singularity —

moving about thirty-four
steps per second in the
midst of a ten hour shift...

s jones

a nightshift moment
circa 2011
Nov 2021 · 279
night sheets
Seranaea Jones Nov 2021

imagine resting in a realm
where the universe is
draped by a single

the sensation of cold sheets
lasting until one assimilates
the other–

leaving some sleeping,

and others just
passing through

s jones

Seranaea Jones Oct 2021

One is supposed to sleep with the intention of repairing the mind and the body of all those ills encountered in daily life, but This night was not one for rest. I think the clock was reading 9:53 last I had glanced, but it could have been 3:59 or sumthin.

Anyway, my eyes opened to the stature of a very tall and muscular fellow holding a pitchfork to my side. He said "Miss Seranaea Jones, you have been selected to participate in a wonderous event. Your going to tour the finest Pits of Hell and all of the recent improvements. Satan has"personally" endorsed this invitation to you, so we must be on our way !"

I think at that moment I said, "its not done yet, let it cook a while longer".

I was not really capturing current events, so he jabbed that pitchfork deeper and pushed me right off the bed. Frickin hurt too, so realizing
that this was gonna be a non-negotiable parlay, I agreed to his terms.

(or "It", I dunno... this dood was holding a pitchfork on me and I couldn't find my gun)

We went outside to his vehicle. It was Hottest **** thing I ever saw !
We got inside and I was surrounded by blinking indicators, computer graphics and some serious leather seats and solid wood paneling. He said "Please fasten your seatbelt, it is not currently permissible to have you killed". I said "Thanks" with a fearful stare of a chicken being held by its throat.

He started the engine and Ohh !!!— such an immaculate sound emanated from it. With one pull of the gearshift we plunged STRAIGHT DOWN. Before I passed out I saw what looked like platoons of dragons in formation poised to venture upwards into to midst of the Earth. My last element of memory was of cheeks rippling with the force of acceleration.

Having survived the trip down to the Negative Pearly Gates, the next thing I knew I was in a fish and ski motor boat cruising the River Styx. Had all those extras too, depth finders and flat monitors that surrounded the driver position— the screens were filled with the ******...

wished i had not looked into the rear view mirror,
looking back was a version of myself as some
mummified shriveled past-tense
Seranaea  "thing"—
                                      — ughhh

He pointed to the sign at the entrance. It looked new enough, but was marred by bullet holes and deep scrapes.

It said—

                       "Ye who enter, Abandon All Hope.
                              ATMs are available inside.
                                        No Smoking"  

He said "My apologies for the condition of this entrance, we just recently had some particularly unruly admissions". I nervously nodded, thinking on how unruly I was upstairs to have become a Hellbound tourist.

The next thing I noticed were the creatures in the water, their mouths gaping wide, wrapped by bedsheet-white skin tightened around skulls and pairs of hollowed eyes. They were screaming knives into my soul.
My captor said "reach into this bag and throw one of these out to them"  
It was a bag of charcoal briquettes, so I took one and threw it. One of those creatures snapped it up and then slipped back underwater.

Cool !!

I did this a number of times, skipping the briquettes and watching them get snatched as like so many minnows gulping down bread crumbs. I was really getting the hang of it by the time I suddenly Slipped And Fell !! –splashing into the water as these things start immediately towards me, reaching for new flesh with long sharp Nails When I—

4 AM

Woke Up !

wrapped tight
in a bed sheet—

peppered with

think id better be a good girl
from now on !!!

s jones

a short story i posted on
Myspace, back in '07.
Happy Halloween !
Seranaea Jones Oct 2021

it is like the pulling of fish from
water that is now too shallow
for minnows to swim in

or a child's deceased hamster
inside of a shoe box leaning
against a dumpster

while a breeze pushes autumn leaves
in the opposite direction of
a one-way street

it is what remains after the
door to everything has been
padlocked from everybody–

these are the bubbles that
pop randomly in my

all of this soaking quietly into
an old wet sponge situated
just between my ears—

did you hear any
of this ?

s jones

Seranaea Jones Oct 2021

He is home now,
her metallic

and has brought with
him a few souvenirs
from "in country" ;

things like sand,

and a script he
submits to her

she will be returning soon
with groceries wearing a
simple paper mask–

driving between stoplights
at each intersection, she
counts the remaining with
tightening fists

as red concentric circles
fade to black inside
his desert.

"On set for the
                        Places Please !"

an enemy now arrives
at the flank of the
forth curtain—

She is home now...

s jones

for war widows
of the living

originally posted 2008
on Myspace
Oct 2021 · 239
Seranaea Jones Oct 2021

Hello there !

i ~was~ that small gap on the
driver side wiper blade that you
paid little attention to until now–

glad to make your
acquaintance !

you know, its kinda funny
if you think on it, you and me
just staring through one another.
the eyes often fail in capturing
the obvious, i guess in passing

but as things tend to develop in nature,
they have creepy ways of obfuscating
the wits out of you as your
inane goes insane–

                                            See ?
             do eventually
                                become Mountains
        when they are allowed to grow and
              cover your windshield with those thin
 brown and grey arc streaked Venetian Blinders

That now capture your fully divided
Attention as you drive in all that
Muddy wet sleet with only a small
Gap left to look through—

were getting to know
each other pretty
good now...

s jones

Oct 2021 · 454
The lights between windows
Seranaea Jones Oct 2021

four hours into a slow night with little
else to do but sip coffee. images through
the window wound me with new ways
to feel older, draping me out with all the

ribbons from New Year's past which got
ripped from those babies who later grew
up to become waiters and waitresses—

from what i can make out, some kid is
busting a table across the street wearing
a button-down shirt with a black tie,

he will likely work a couple more hours
and head out some place wearing the
reverse of this with an abundance
of youth to flaunt for all those
girls who actively seek


Ohhh !
He is looking
this way now !!!
i think..

somehow i feel this brushing of
unfamiliar shoulders as our worlds
of witnessing empties between these
panes of our circumstance, my ambered
line of sight cross–ray'd  with the beams
of his hot-white glare–

i watch dimly as he smiles at that
young lady with the red umbrella
crossing the street between us..


a few blinks later he will disappear
behind a partition and i will then
turn my attention inwards,

day-dreaming away the remainder
of my shift about hopeful
exchanges for


s jones

originally written  
in 2008
Sep 2021 · 865
Seranaea Jones Sep 2021

would i rather wait in line
at the entrance to Hell
knowing at least
that i had

than to stare at the Pearly
Gates coming up with
excuses as to why
i didn't

s jones

Sep 2021 · 469
dust devil warrior
Seranaea Jones Sep 2021

fine grains of desert air
stir into the tightening
manifestation of a

warrior slain in a charge
with such quickness—

he ran several paces before
jettisoning his weakened
vessel in order to continue

the assault...

s jones

Seranaea Jones Sep 2021

on quiet nights lately i hear
something similar to a sheet
slowly being pulled
across a bed

thinking maybe it is just
the ringing in my ears

but i am afraid now it could be
the sound of sand pouring
down the hourglass
of my lifespan—

echoing through a
nearly depleted
vessel above...

s jones

Aug 2021 · 501
The Existential Engine
Seranaea Jones Aug 2021

~since the Past is a memory
supported by evidence  
of what was once "now"–

~and the Future is a mental
projection forward since it
has not yet happened–

figuring for the nerve impulse
latency to the brain, which
in turn must process
this information—

we therefore experience
the Present in Past tense,

relying upon the Future
to fuel a continued


s jones

Aug 2021 · 499
old computers
Seranaea Jones Aug 2021

lying on a closet floor
that stretches for over
two decades—


messages, pictures and songs
from back in the day stored
inaccessibly in a rusting box
that has not functioned in years

and next to it, a laptop with a
deployed CD tray sits sideways
partially draped by a sheet

these machines may have
shared stories once,
but its doubtful they really
knew each other

miles away in a nursing home
a petrified brain rests in some
kind of medicated peace

while another lays quietly on his
side under a blanket watching
for the other one's last breath

hearing kids just outside
laughing into their devices —

he hopes for a chance to take
his last spin on –anyone's–
old record player...

s jones

Aug 2021 · 763
bottomless pupils
Seranaea Jones Aug 2021

why is it every time
i look into your eyes
i am upended

falling into them
like a pouring into
your crystal goblet

of some

s jones

Aug 2021 · 220
Seranaea Jones Aug 2021

it was working towards me
in tiny increments with this
unusually adamant

loop-scooting itself across a
hot gravel desert populated
by abrasively inert killers

scraping off bits of itself
in detail along the way

i gave it a lift—

it rolled into a tight ball,
relaxed and then died
in my hand

its last act, a lamenting as if
i had denied it some chosen
final resting place

leaving me holding
this barometer

for measuring the spaces
between those less than
lofty of goals in the better
part of my years...

s jones

Aug 2021 · 246
Seranaea Jones Aug 2021

is it better to feel a sting
than to become numb
from the wakes of

those millions of voices
suggesting to you about
how to live out

your final few breaths ?

i might hold on
to mine

s jones

Jul 2021 · 380
darkroom safari
Seranaea Jones Jul 2021

as a kid
i felt along
the walls of a
perceived dark
confinement for

imagining that creatures
were taking swipes at me
with their claws and tentacles

knowing —full well— that
discovery of a light switch
would end this game of


my illusion of exploration
has been reduced to ashes
from decades of rapid

just as well, i cannot afford
to trip my way through
the darkness anymore


some nights i will turn the
lights off and imagine myself
searching cautiously along
pitch black wooden panels

thinking next time i might
miss the switch &

discover artifacts from
a lost childhood...

s jones

over the last decade
my torch has gotten
swapped out for a

and it is increasingly
windy everywhere—

Jul 2021 · 529
drybrush upon canvas
Seranaea Jones Jul 2021

nothing might happen if i put
a blank sheet of paper in front
of me and hold a pencil over it
long enough to count the number
of beats it takes for my heart to
forget why i wanted to give up
on writing—

and then i notice a teardrop
right in the center of it...



s jones
Jul 2021 · 413
Develop—Mental Software
Seranaea Jones Jul 2021


a forging of youths
into un—potential works
of future creativity
so they may
negatively contribute
human foundations
for generations to come
to become forgeries
of their parents
by allowing them to be

software updates
from developers with
foreign interests


you should know
by now how these things
will usually end up—

having watched enough
television to recognize
the ancient ruins of

Jul 2021 · 326
breakfast to hoot
Seranaea Jones Jul 2021

the owl hoots from across the field—

pulls the sun out from
the ground by its talons
and tosses it into my
kitchen window

winks at me

and then takes off into
the morning with its
fully cooked meal...

s jones
July 2021

Jun 2021 · 228
my impressions of flour
Seranaea Jones Jun 2021

when i was very young i was
prohibited from climbing the
kitchen cabinets in order to
get into the sugar container

yet my ulterior motive
next to it was the flour

it started with the creation
of pictures of my fingers in

and then with a playing card
i molded shapes that would
crack apart in intricate detail
as i nudged at it slightly

with a tablespoon i constructed
mountains and grand canyons

i even made my own
five year old face

thinking how God might
have been inspired with
simple cosmic dust

reviewing the cracks and
wrinkles of my pale stoney
cheeks in the mirror

i have decided that it may
be best not to let children
play with flour...

s jones
June 2021

Jun 2021 · 334
surfacing into heaven
Seranaea Jones Jun 2021

a "Purity of Being"
rests upon this
–Bed of Angels–

governing the distances
between crests of
wrinkled sheets

watching them

break along the banks
with his skillfully
sinful skin—

Waking me...

s jones
June 2021

inspired from reading
a work recently posted
by Bobby Copeland
Jun 2021 · 1.3k
the deepest earth
Seranaea Jones Jun 2021

i look up at my feet and
understand what it is like
to be buried underneath
the entirety of the Earth—

maybe Atlas was
simply interred
after all...

s jones

a poem inspired by ~Schedar~
Jun 2021 · 247
small lines on big walls
Seranaea Jones Jun 2021

we knew the Marlin kids in '71
at the house across the street–
Danny, Angela and

the youngest–
i cannot fathom for the life
of me his name

i played almost daily with that boy
until one evening he showed me
Danny's military photo to explain
why he had been away so long

a week later daddy told me not
to go to his house anymore

i am unable to visualize
his kindergarten face
even to—day,

only a memory of the photo
of a brother who vanished
forever, later taking with
him everybody else

whenever i think
of it now,

i feel like i am keeping a
space for his lost image
in my private album
like someone's name on
the Black Wall—

the name of a conscript
in a crusade made up
mostly of children...

s jones
June 2021

Jun 2021 · 401
sweet sweeps in stanza
Seranaea Jones Jun 2021

i spread sugar across the kitchen table
and use my index finger to start from
deep scratch, penetrating it's layer to
the smooth wooden surface below

writing characters into gritty detail
within it's fine grainy media, i finish
each line without any practical means
to re-work the structure

they are my sweet licks by finger tips,
rows of tasty words that lay bare upon
a temporary tablet— in a raw form
which will soon be swept into a dust pan

just a musing on a mess at a place
meant for dining, i remove my
thoughts with a hand held brush—

yet traces of its ghost now linger
in a fragile film awaiting your

s jones

May 2021 · 216
a digital wilderness
Seranaea Jones May 2021

they have figured out how
to numerically make a
chainsaw function in reverse

in order to restore
a tree felled by it
to it's original state–

and somewhere there is
an effort being made to
airdrop maple seeds into
the path of a tornado

so a machine inside of a
huge building has posted
on the internet—

for what it is worth
these wood probably
look good on paper...

May 2021 · 486
a dropping of sand
Seranaea Jones May 2021

i cast only shadows
of twilight,

but like a ghost, i can
spoon deceptively well~

following just a fingernail away,
i can scrape the periphery of your
senses at any given moment

yet i remain outside a passing glance,
just beyond the visual reach of mirrors

for i am the corpse you sleep with nightly,
evidenced by those occasional scratch marks
i leave on your shoulders, neck, buttocks

the thing you've spent most of your lifespan
dismissing as some graveside mourner you
simply turned your eyes away from

yet as a faucet of sand left dripping,
you pool into the spaces between
the plankings of oblivion


you will wake to a rope-snap
suspension upon the gallows
of my choosing

as you pour out the last
grain from the hourglass
of your lifespan

your fingertips slipping
down its smoothed

knowing — 

as i watch you
fall away

from far,

s jones
May 2021

a re-assembly from
something i wrote
in 2009
May 2021 · 406
sanitary overpass
Seranaea Jones May 2021

feathered smudges like a floor spatter from
Jackson Pollard covered the lanes underneath
an old L&N railroad overpass where flocks
of pigeons used to **** from above

tiny pellets were sprinkled along the
rail banks & eager beaks pushed aside
large stones to pick out these "yummies"
which slid easily down the throat
causing vacant, fixed pupils

it is about thirteen foot-six inches from
the bottom of the bridge to the street,
hundreds of detached eyes looked
aimlessly from the pavement
for a sky to rise in

motorists rolled up the windows as they
approached for a finishing pass, hoping
maybe they would all eventually wash
away with the rains

i see a morning dove landing on my
porch railing, it's tiny black lenses
zooming into me through the window

causing me to think if maybe there is
a talon or a couple of small bones
embedded tread-wise into my tire

a vision now manifests some
thirteen foot, six inches away—

all those

s jones

pigeons used to occupy an old
railway overpass in a town that
i live near

authorities used some kind of
poison one weekend to cull
the animals

and this was the result...
May 2021 · 199
Seranaea Jones May 2021

"it indicates much skill and
agility with either hand"
someone told me in youth

meaning i can throw and
catch baseballs with
either hand,
             with great difficulty

suggests i can knife and fork
food into my mouth with
either hand,
                  after a fashion

implies that i can
write legibly with
either hand,
                    just barely

insinuates that i should be
able to juggle tennis *****
with fire all over them,

Well then,

given the above
I find that
might mean for me—

an embellishment in
compensation for
skills lacking in
both hands,


s jones
May 2021

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