-


take any pen and
pull off the cap,

test-scribble on paper
to see if the machine
on the end of it
will distribute
ink

or

take a
charcoal
briquette and
mark a concrete
wall with your ideas
in full black

either way—

i guarantee that
—somewhere—
an authority will
make an attempt
to pressure wash it
back off with a
water cannon...


s jones
2021


.

-

i could imagine this word
being used by a hypnotist
to induce a trance

or maybe typed in as a fake
name on a website to get
access to free software–

but i would really like
to put this into some
possible context,

(being how i just
thought of it)

(~!@"–MoonFish–"@!~)

i could cast a line into
the Sea of Tranquility
and pull one out

pop a tab on a beer
while firing up my
portable grill,

scale it, clean it,
cook it-
                eat it.


(<Moon-Fish>)

the name of a poem written
for somebody who works
at a fisherman's wharf,

moonlighting as a night
watchman kicking rats
off the pier.

moon fish—

a phrase coined by an
amateur poet for an
idea that may never
actually come to being...



s jones
Apr 2021


.

-

imagine taking all the leftovers from
the neighborhood yard sales that had
taken place the year before

sort and box them into categories like
chipped saucers, stained children's
books, empty picture frames and
old uniform trousers

and you'll get a weekend sale lasting
about nine hours, including the time
taken to assemble these things, place
them carefully for display and

then later throwing them into a pile
on a flat bed trailer for disposal
the following weekend

still—

it is something the
neighbors like
to do...


s jones
Apr 2021


.

-

i used to imagine as i lie
on my back in the grass

looking downward from
the foot of a great oak

watching squirrels cling to
the thin twigs and wonder

what they would think if
they lost their grip and
fell into the clouds,

sensing they would
splash-land forever—

into heaven...


s jones
2021


.

-

Amazing !

how They keep millions of
computer-boxed brains from
calculating out of bounds

using the same media,
which simultaneously
*****

to the left
                 and
                          to the right

sating a hunger for numbers
by drawing into either side
as many believers as possible

all the same ;

those who are ideologically
magnetized seem to
not mind
                   control

giving me every reason
to keep my eyes glancing
at the center for movement

where i know a monster
patiently waits—

smiling at so
many cattle...


s jones
2021

.

-

in order to
"poem"
             BIG—

i must learn
to write
              small...


s jones
2021


.

-

on the Sea of Tranquility sits
evidence of alien visitors
to this world ;

underneath one of the footings lie
the crushed remains of an indigenous
being who was delivering a message

inside a six-fingered metacarpus
entanglement is a wrinkled sheet
of aluminum with the following
etched in broken Earthling—

"we never sent invitations
and we never asked you
for anything–

Please,
               go home..."


s jones
2021

.

-

a fixture for a canvas
of words that spatter
like mud thrown upon
a concrete wall

creaks like ice coated
branches from such
weight and is then

topped off with finials,  
failures of preambles,
rambles and scrambles,

—

the legs snap and the
easel falls to the floor
with a slap—

imprinting the surface
with an exact opposite

that someone in passing
thinks should be a good
fit for a reading...


s jones
2021

.

-

in a landfill one day i saw an
immigrant family take an old
bed and strap it across the top
of a banged up SUV that was

missing it's left front clip, the
headlight was taped where a
socket would have held it,
like a discombobulated eyeball

clearly marked on the edge
of the mattress was the
following in Red Sharpie—

"DO NOT SALVAGE"

the same warning i remember  
writing on Momma's deathbed
decades earlier, her stain clearly
visible on one side.

there was nothing to be said, 
even if i could speak fluently
against what was apparently

—for them—

clearly accepted
terms...


s jones
Mar 2021


.

-

for centuries people have set aside
special days to schedule certain events,
mark a historic point in humanity,
or signify the passing of a torch

so perhaps within such varieties the
makers of calendars could introduce
to the world in all their wisdom,

A Wildcard Day

a day that people can do anything with
and be able to place it at will within a
positioning scheme of convenience,

empowering it so that
you can substitute any
pending occasion,

say like, (insert bad day here)

so that you can make
it yesterday,

put it off until
next week,

or at the very least—

resituate it anywhere
but to—day...


s jones
Feb 2021


.

-

That line in the distance which
defines the boundary between
the Heavens and the Earth

is not even a line–
actually it is an arc,
so i have fooled
myself already.

I imagine this as a border
constituting what i can
and cannot reach

with all the lofty fixtures
of space high above

and the rocks below—

my endurance erodes
between them.

I admit to having grown
fond of the certainty
this divide represents

because it renders the scope
of my options unambiguous.

Still, i fancy some rungs–
a way to step up
so i can place hopes
just above that threshold,

but having attempted to
measure the height of
"Jacob's Ladder",

i realize success could mean
my condemnation to
a hopelessness
below...


s jones
2021


.

-

last night i met a wolf  
in a dream where
i was in a car with
the door decidedly open

listening to a radio that
was playing
some soft jazz
on a distant station.

i look and— there He was !!
right next to me sitting
just inches away.

He said (woof) "Hello" with a
mild but manly voice, this fellow
was well over two hundred lbs.

i said "hello" back as He sniffed
at the side of my leg briefly
and then looked at me with

friendly eyes and an expression
which seemed –to me– like
a gentle smile.

He then said (woof) "I just wanted
you to pet me for a minute–
hopefully you wont mind"

so i did..

perhaps it was the scent of what i sprayed
on as i made my way out, or maybe
how the boots surrounded my
thighs a couple of inches
above my knees as the
wind blew across
my skirt like a
gesture—

and then a voice on
the radio shouted,

"You should be Parked !!"

I woke...


s jones
2021


.

-

i once had a bowl of
alphabet soup that
cussed me out

moody soup i suppose,
maybe too much salt

it only took all of three stirs
to resume composure

nevertheless i have favored
literally innocuous
types of soup ever since

not so much from me
being onion-skinned,
but simply for the fact—

i would prefer to eat
as opposed to
entertaining such
potentially disturbing
conversations
over the dinner table...

s jones
2021


.

-

i lie here beneath unfinished skies,
watching a rainbow evaporate
into shadows of daylight

my intellection suggests they are
made from billions of thumbs and
forefingers holding tiny mirrors

between me and my beyond,

lying to us with images of ambiguous
white columns in a gigantic panorama
of shape-shifting mistakes that constantly
reposition to hide the flaws

but i can easily make out these errors,
committed upon sensing inadequacy–
adjusting abstract creativity mapped
with ill-conceived perfection

which is likely what blew
this rainbow apart ,
the precipitation here was
so immense !

and somewhere—

droplets rise to form a tremendous new arc,
glimpsed now by a humble roofer
who wishes only that the sun
would hide once again...


s jones
2021


.

-

an icicle broke off from
the gutter of my porch,

stabbing my hydrangea
bush right in the heart.

i could reprimand the
shattered remains of an
icy spear,

and then bandage the
wound with a layer
of snow–

yet it occurs to me to maybe
quarter an apple with a
Swiss Army knife,

this pooling of thoughts like
pale blood seeping out of a
painfully frozen morning—

turning me white like
heavy frost over
so many early roses...


s jones
2021


.

-

I accepted this
portion of a

@-#)~"—?—"~(#-@


(conjured surely
from some black
cauldron)

And With Respect—

My mouth opened
wide enough
in the attempt
to finish the
whole thing raw
with a single bite–

but instead,
I grabbed one crumb
between incisors,

tugged
and tugged
until It tumbled
out of my mouth
and onto the arm
of the porch swing–

bounced and then
dropped
           between
                         cracks
amongst peelings of
old paint and then
into the funnel of
an Ant-Lion,

who thought it had
the catch of the day,
pulled It in,
bit into It–
went sour-faced

(as if it could)

and spat It back out
where It continued
into a wormhole
downwards
inwards
&
side-wards
inside out
through
multi colored
celestial
milky-ways—

bumping into a  
plastic spoon
spinning end
over end
along a
Mobius Strip orbit
between the
Rings of Saturn,
where It shall
                          (hopefully)
reside
For  Ever—

(Expansive Ten-Fingered
"E" chords played upon
Three Grand Pianos)

Finis
            Coronat  
                              Opus...

­

s jones
2021


.

-

i found a can of fish hooks
while looking for a pair
of gloves to—day

a decomposing hand
crawls its way back
to its owner;

in the course of parsing
her effects after she was
folded and filed away

finger over finger by thumb
over lithography of safety,
prying open the subtle warmth
of personal bed space,

like a pen seeking fluid
to fuel an exhausted
ink well,
the tip of one of
them pricked my finger,

finger over finger by thumb
over a papier-mâché torso –
casting long shadows, even
in total darkness,

my blood then violated
an heirloom—

a notepad of dreams she
had on her nightstand
the morning she died,

between the folds of blankets
towards vulnerable skin—
icy digits commence
with repossession,

detailing on
her last entry what
i had just written here—

frantically groping into thick
blackness for the pull chain
of a light switch—

something to do about a
can full of fish hooks
she happened upon
in a nightmare...

It was just a Glove
it was a glove
it's a glove
a glove
~




s jones
2021
.

-

hiding either in
a bathroom
or behind a desk,
a single hand can render
a mass manipulation
of mentality,

yanking along with it
by-way-of an
electronic leash,

the soul–

as if so many fingernails
were being driven into
these thin plastic
brain coffins—

millions
of
       them...



s jones
2021


.

-

they have empirically evidenced
      a spectral existence within
          computer imagery of
                small glowing
                       orbs
                      ~  o  ~

                     "yawn"

if i found myself in the middle of
these things as they bank off the
walls and nudge against my arm–
batting their lil' eyes at me,

it would likewise illicit from me
the perception of a largely
innocuous event,

But—

the
creeping
shadow of
a skeletal hand
appearing to reach
for my shoulder from
the opening of a doorway
within the steady limitations of
a traditional negative photograph–

would most certainly
pull me into

it's
               reality...



s jones
2021



.

-

i wish a memory of
the old store that used
to operate down the street–

the pinball machine that
almost always would put
out an extra ball with a
bump on the side,

and that fella who ran it,
still offering a coin
from the register just to
hear me play one more

as he swept footprints
of the day off
the front steps

and

then left me soda on the
windowsill for my
bike ride home as he
locked up–

would stop reminding me
how easy it is
for kids of to—day
to sweep all this off
into streets of oblivion—

noticing how the road
where it once stood
is so uneven
compared to the
rest of the grade...



s jones
2021


.

-


Lines border my eyes like new roads
to more distinguishing characteristics,
signifying for me many a morning frown.

I draw my face closer to the mirror to
examine them in more detail, mapping
pending destinies laid fresh like asphalt.

Traces of purple fans out from the exterior
corners, I think of them as ink spatter that
gets larger every time I endorse

a small check.

I cannot stop the runs but I can
hide the evidence with concealer
creams and foundation,

establishing a façade upon which
the viewer will find as pleasant
from just the right                          
                                       distance.

I stand back just so approximately
from the mirror to admire
an illusion of youth,

and then move forward once more
to fathom the texture
of experience—

"Maybe less this time" I think,
have I not earned the right ?


s jones
2011-2021

.

-

the switch reveals a hesitation
acted upon with unconscious
awareness as my fist releases
its grip from the door ****

altered yet again by another
iteration, just enough–

i blink each morning into
the mirrors just behind
the surfaces of my eyes—

to rinse and later return
to the place
that burns them...


s jones
2021

-

i hope we do not
(as a species)
"evolve"
into islands of
six foot radius circles
adrift upon oceans of
Social Media,

as Billionaires scoop up
space with the vacuum
of our losses

and then water ski across
surfaces of what once was
our own footsteps.

They Know—

we can not afford
to dog-paddle
our way across
their private
pool


by our wealth
                            alone...


s jones
2021

.

-


feel the heaviness
of invitations
bold,

free fall of purpose,
dissolving into a
whirlpool

circling it's center
thinning number
by number

ten, nine, eight,
se—seven,
six, five,

four~

feather tips
stroking
underneath
upturned
palms

three~

fingertips
light­ly
touching
delicate
doorways

two~

steps away from
loose earth at
the edge,

giving way
to

one ;

submerged as the
membrane above
sleep vaporizes

into web-footed
thrusting through
currents

with "up" rotated
lateral
across the
undertow and
pulling you beneath—

breathe...



s jones
2021



.

-


I think of you as the first draw
from a cigarette wish-well,
and the dizzy well being
of its so-so beckonings—

i became addicted,

remaining perilously close to your
edge with a potential for falling in
while reaching for another taste
as the cravings intensified.

But the euphoria diminished;

when i realized (finally) that you
were not my springwater, nor the
bucket of a dreamwell, nary even
the spool that held the rope—

you were merely a shimmer
of water under a bridge
that was too good
to be true.

Someday i will pause
over your delicious
flow once more,

to remember a taste
necessitating years
to drift downstream...


s jones
Dec 2020


.

-


Looking out into the Dawn,
frost is a welcomed viewing,
snows hesitate here once again,
this Day is gentle to us.

through the clear blue, He looks
down and gazes upon the Earth
as i sit here in quiet reflection.

the only sounds are the shudders
of the refrigerator motor as it
kicks on and off,

the warm air blowing
thankfully through
the floor vent,

the pops and crackling
of joints, both of me &
the chair,

and the heartbeats that
He listens to intently-

the thought of this
reminding me—

i am never alone...


s jones
25 Dec 2007


.

-


in case you may not know, it was the last car
at the end of a train, usually it was a red or
occasionally a yellow color which would be
clearly noticed

this car was manned in order to monitor the
train from that end for any issues, particularly
in case an axle from one of the coal cars locks
up and catches on fire

but i guess this feature was eliminated due to
improvements in the wheel assemblies, or maybe
because they had new electronic monitoring for the
crews in the locomotives

if you are under the age of thirty, this may not have
been general knowledge to you since the use of these
cars were phased out sometime in the 1980's, now a
red flashing light signifies the end of the train

you can see one of these cars parked near the city
square just north of the Tennessee/Kentucky
border in Guthrie— there is just enough rail
underneath to hold it braked in place

i think the rails once extended to the mainline
and the car was trapped there when acetylene
cutters terminated its route in either direction.

the men who rode it are now
the ghosts of everlasting
employment.

now we have thousands riding the
caboose of their careers amidst
red blaring lights that flash
from all imaginable
directions—

many of them sitting motionless
upon routes that go nowhere...



s jones
2010-2020

-

weeks after he ascended
from his fallen carcass—

troops vacated what once
was good ground,

rains washed in mud
to refill the holes,

the scent of honeysuckle
once again became
intrusive,

birds of prey returned
to their perches-

watching as

squirrels and rabbits
went about
their collections,

and the veil of silent
winds once again
descended.

after decades passed
through the footfalls
of morning strolls
between healing
vegetation and
eroding
rock—

a park had completed
formation about the
flanks of his bones ...


s jones
2020


.

-


i have decided to
meditate on
nothing

by filling a moment
of voids with -

no parks
no dogs to walk
no children out playing
no cars cruising dead end streets
no boats in a river that flows nowhere
no fishermen having fish to fill their boats
no livelihood, no fish on a plate, no plate
to place back on the shelf, no shelf
to fix upon the wall, no wall
to hang photos, no photos
to look at, no faces
to recall,

nil,

just so maybe i can
feel the Universe
pour itself

back into me...


s jones
Dec 2020

.

-


i can just imagine how things would
end up, me being a little more than
hesitant to even consider vocalizing
myself "Live" to dozens of listeners

—me—

starting out on a platform in some school
gymnasium just a short million miles away
from the safety of my writing cubical deep
inside a worm hole underneath my domicile

im sure that a few in the crowd will wonder
what this thing is doing there, my thin, shaky
form walking erratically to center stage with a
tablet in one hand and a cup of water in the other—

well, it could be *****..

the microphone will be way too big for
what little i have to say, commencing
with an unsteady vocal that many will find
indistinguishable from man or woman,

the rhythm should get better after the first
of several stanzas, but i will have already
spotted the ombudsman standing near the
emergency exit listening in—

just as i feared,

and as our eyes meet, his expectation
of structure and rigidity will boil me
down to the hardwood floor, reducing
me to the basic size of a Cornish hen,

spun lengthwise upon his rotisserie,
roasting away as a smoldering torso
from his slow hand-cranked rotations

over the campfire which he will light his
cigarettes from, leaving me choking
from the smoke of his evaluations
as i drip into the cinders and
evaporate along with most
of my self ~esteem..

i realize that he'll just be some ghost
that has haunted my every attempt
at simple boldness,

but i know he is gonna be right there
if i ever climb up to laser like stares
and the wide-open ~hears~ of
kindred poets and curious ears,

an easy fellow to pick out—

he will be the one
holding my neck
in his hands...


s jones
2008-2020


.

-


"if a child imparts a spirit into them,
some toys will retain hope,

for —at least— however long the
batteries might hold out..."


I was born on her 7th birthday in 2007, before then I knew nothing.
She held me in wanting hands and her kiss gave Me life.
My soul was born that day and
We fell in love !

I cant remember all the joy and fun we had, too much of it I guess.
She used to dress Me in all kinds of outfits that I loved.
We were One with each other, and would be
Mates for life !

One day she was very sad, she held me tight and
I held her together. Hours went by as Sisters,
Yet —somehow— we drifted apart—

She was learning tough new lessons
while I began a remedial course
in redundancy..

—

—

I cannot imagine how I got here, usually I stayed
on her bedside. I am now boxed and buried
with Her toys of abandonment.  

When !

When did I last see her,
maybe last May ?  

—

"just for once,
—please— take me out
and hold me,
                          please??"

—

i guess
this is the room
where toys are sent to die,
to fade from memory and existence.
There must be more to it than this dark
and lonely space. Am I more but less ???

maybe just,
                      Misplaced ???

—


What did I do wrong???  
She gave me LIFE !!
WHY!!!

—

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
07FF—!!!battery alarm!!!
00B1—!!!MEM_ error!!!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

My thoughts — going, batteries
about to leak paste now,
weeks now,
and—
                        and i  ... ...

What was I thinking there,
Oh yes!!!
she Will come for me!
Just a bad day
I guess-

Thinking maybe,
She's
              forgotten...




s jones
2007-2020


.

-

Greetings,

I am the empty chair you just recently
pushed into the carport like some unruly
child made to stand in a corner.

Not a new chair for sure,
but you made me Your chair
by the force of gravity,

transforming my cushion into
perfect contours in the image
of your ***.

Though you were always careful
if crumbs fell into me to get up
and brush them away,

and instead of just plopping down
******* me, you sat gentle and easy,
even if only doing so to soften the
shock for yourself,

there were moments as you sipped beer
you let it slip through your bottom lip,
dripping on me with bitter aftertaste.

Still, I was forgiving of that, and even
to those numerous occasions of you
venting your evening meals.

But the one event that forever sullied our
personal relationship was the morning you
woke on me soaked in most of the past
evening's              
                ~~brew

Though you tried to patch things up
with towels and scented sprays,
we were never to look upon
one another with the
same recognition
again.

I know now the days for me here number
far less than the buttons of the controller
you so frequently lost between my cushions,
giggling me in your efforts to retrieved it.

Although our separation will mean for me a
transformation into a twisted pile of springs,
stuffing, splinters and ripped cloth within the
bucket jaws of a front end loader in the snow,

I can take some comfort with me to the
resting pits of jettisoned human folly that
our severance was of no fault of my own.

yours truly,
Chair...


s jones
2007-2020


.

-

~a small pile of ash—

some teeth
metal oxide and
grated bone material

fitting a cardboard
vault with such a
precision

a weighing of decision

to throw in some
flour or a handful
of dirt

upon a
lifetime allotment
of sanctified hurt

i sleep
to-night in a
shoe box casket

to fathom that
finalized state
of being ~


s jones
Nov 2020



.

-

she stands there with
equal curiosity and
reaches as i do
towards the
surface

thinking
how we both
could dismiss the
truth of the glass—

knowing
we each think
alike and are of
the same mind

believing
in each other's
convictions of
being

accepting
the warmth
of our fingertips

to prove we each
exist on opposite
sides

wishing to join
one another

looking deep into
focused eyes

whispering
permission

to allow the
other's hand
to slip aside

and
pass              
through...



s jones
2020



.

-

stripping off bark,
carefully neat
unbroken
strings,
and then
into the bone
of the branch

bigger chips follow suit
as the carving
continues

the knife peels, chunking
out rough pieces as
they litter the floor

later to be swept aside
into darkness

years pass in solitary
cutting as cars
go slowly by

looking where the front porch
is buried at one end with
the chips of his wilderness

displaying no
ornaments
to show
for the labor

no birds
no raccoons
no whistles
not even his cane

pare of nothing
but the pile—

all he is...


s jones
2020

.

-

in case you was curious,
that "©" which appears
at the end of a writer's

printed work is purposed
to indicate copyrighted
materials within it's body

recorded —somewhere—

on government stationary in
a government office located in
a government city guarded

by government agents who
typically are out to lunch on
the government's dime

(our dime)

but My lil " ©" doesn't
cost all that much, like if
you buy stickers from

an alarm security outfit for
seventeen bucks to throw on
the front and rear windows
of your house,

instead of the $ 1,700 system
that wont go off unless
YOU are there to
turn it off.

still, its nice to know—

a burglar would be less likely
to risk setting it off from
reading the copyright notice
                                                   anyhow...



s jones
© 2020

.

-

I discovered it protruding a bit
between reference volumes in
the library, seemingly amiss.

Stuck fast, I pulled
on it hard, it popped out and
then flew past me,

flapping across the room like some
quasi-winged frisbee-lark, bouncing
off the edge of a bookshelf and

landing on the carpet with it's
feather pages fanned outward,
the quills then slowly relaxed.

I let it sit it there for a moment to
settle from the occurrence, then
picked it up for a closer look,

releasing my breath into Tut's Tomb,
to blow away loose sediment dating
from it’s forgotten inauguration—

Upon reading, it thanked me
for this flight from a
static Perdition—


by
telling me
tales of taradiddles,
page after page to no
end...Taradiddles, page after
page to no end...Page after Page
to no End...telling Me Taradiddles ! Yes !!
Taradiddles !! To No End !! Page After Page to NO
END !... PAgE AFtEr PaGE AFTeR PAGE—TARADIDDLES !!
PAGE AFTER PAGE FROM COVER TO COVER TO NO F—

( thuMP ! )


—leaving me with little doubt
which section of the library
it should have been placed...


s jones
© 2020


.

-


oh, considerate
counselors~

i fear the scars of your instruction
will never erode, even after i
melt down your mental
tarbabies
with a solution
that i hope will make
them chemically dissolve away,

leaving nothing but your staples.

what was it really ?
hyperactivity, autism,
anomalies of perception,
social detachment,
maybe—

a Gift ?

well, i guess it would not have
made a difference, everybody
knew of this but
                                  me-

patching up my gray matter mistakes
with remedies permanently cemented
between impressionable foldings

i feel this cure like masonry damming
where free-flowing thoughts that ride
upon streams into oceans were supposed
to have discharged naturally,

stopping me from causing my
summers to mix with everybody
else's winters (or vise versa).

you see, my natural configuration
would have sated for me what
would —in turn— infuriate others,

thus the picket around me was built
sufficiently lofty so i would never
grow tall enough to oversee it.

these days i often mistaken this perimeter
for bricks that line the inside of a well,
complete with a leaky bucket
swinging overhead,
beyond my
reach—

of all things an adult child could ever
want for Christmas, the removal of
what now prohibits true potential

these things they instilled into me
so i could not violate the principals
of conventional wisdom in their day—

but this is
My Day
now !

and dead counselors need
not protect their world
from Me anymore !

and this Gift ?

it continues drifting
conspicuously aloft
in my gray ocean—

a Divine Gratuity that remains
—to this day— unsuitable
for redemption...


s jones
© 2020


.

-

Cats possess this thing
about their rears that they
flaunt with impunity

wielding it to express their
unique personal opinions
at the moment

uncurling outwards and
upwards and around then
back downwards

sweeping around table legs
swishing side to side and
then slipping underneath

towards no one
in particular

they sometimes will
form the shape of
the letter "C"
coil into a "S"
straighten to an "i"
or if startled, an "!"

but not a "Z",
never a "K"
and no "E"s,
definitely
not—

and certainly
not an "X"
unless two
stand end
to end

maybe four of them
can gather and
form a "W"

but given their nature,
would they not
question "Y"—
? ...


s jones
© 2008


.

-

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


.

-

-No need in worrying about some huge
"Billiard God" situated behind the Moon
with a pool stick, thus rendering it possible
to count the lunar craters with relative ease
as it approaches Earth—

( they have already checked,
there is nobody back there )

-Best not concern ourselves about collisions
with dinosaur droppings laid in your path as
they stomp about in pursuit of small vehicles
for an easy meal—

( as they were effectively wiped off the face 
of this planet by the droppings of much
larger space rocks )

-Pointless babbling about Poseidon's
release of the Kraken upon our cities—

( as the Romans had abolished such religions
in favor of one palatable enough for the
populace to digest, as opposed to
being digested by said elements
of the aforementioned faith )

-And finally, no cause for alarm if your
particular candidate —for whatever office—
fails to receive enough votes to win his/her
seat in this year's Election, regardless of
your religious or political affiliations—

As This Country has seen
The End of the World
numerous times,

and Will Continue,
just like it has done
for many decades,

Because—

We have seen Worse...



© 2020


.

-

it was, for her~

a question, a dare to venture into a
place that few would ever visit
more than once in a lifetime

walled with earth, rock, twists and
turns, shadows that move—
bones that lay still

a smart phone was recovered there,
the woman who left it is somewhere
deep in the lower chambers

it recorded her unapproved descent into
miles of dark passages which multiply,
divide, intersect— mystify

images steady at first, a wonderment
of sheer expansiveness, these arteries
go on forever and ever !

"i need to tell someone !"—
                                               "ohh, no
                                                 signal..."

a "sotto voce" begins questioning confusion
as her disorientation becomes a
measure of breath

curiosity now relinquishes to a desperation
of sharp huffs as the camera aims about
in quick jolts, straining to see the
next hopeful opening—

the light stops
working.

minutes later she realizes her affiliation
with the underground brethren has
been met with tacit approval.

her phone is eventually abandoned with
all remaining composure, as a new

and permanent member commences
a delirious marathon down
the corridors of
                             home

—

the recording lasted awhile before
her drowning cries dissolved into
resolution of a sealed fate—

underneath and silent,
amongst thousands

                            of opened mouths...




s jones
© 2020


.

-

That ******
Mirror—

the thought of faces in humanity
showing scars of cast'd regularity
now mutes my expressions ;
~
jovial faces display smooth contours,
riverbeds of smiles and amusement,
a'flow— gleefully downstream

sullen faces carve heavy heart canyons,
white rapids pushing difficult rocks
in opposing directions
~
all of this scribbled down
in short-hand by the
Surveyors of Time.

—

i now relax my
composure
to this—

carefully drawn maps of
experiences, upon glance

face to face, year by year,
smoothed and unfolded

ever so slow melts
my candle, abreast

whilst smiling my bones
with an approval
from Death...


© 2020


.

-

" You have no real sense of meter,
your rhyming is non-existent
and you spell like a brat,
following no rules"

Rules?

i didnt know i had to follow
any rules, 'cept the ones in my
head that represent limitation

"Well, you need to read up
on some of the more classic
"recognized" poets—
Learn the Proper Etiquette !"

Dood,

i have read more than a few lines
of that finer moem-age poem-age,
and if you want to write about why
roses are red on fine sheets of poet paper
with a fountain pen in the fashion of Kipling—

Cool;

i will more likely write about how well Violet blew
over the top of a half empty jug of bourbon with
a ball point pen that skips more or less
in the style of Bukowski—

and then someone can say that
we had both written poems
about Colorful Flowers...



© 2020
.

-

.
!!
!!!!
BANG
projecting
stars and cloudy
nebulae, forming amino
acids, making wiggly blobs that
eventually find direction towards the
capacity to think about how long it takes to

count backwards
to zero
!!!!
!!
.



© 2020
-

-

One day,

I found the letter "W" laid
face to the ground-
i knew this because it's center
was pushed downward,

like a nose in the dirt.

with every attempt i made
to stir it, it would only moan
and remain still, its thin arms
bent around backwards.

this is not the first time
iv'e seen a "W" laid out,
having witnessed many
letters and numerals bite
the dust of misplacement-

it is just the sad truth
of our language.

i found a cardboard box
and picked it up carefully,
making sure i didnt injure
the poor fellow further.

it looked up at me and
made a weak smile,
knowing we all make
mistakes—

upon it's passing away,
it was this expression
i remembered most
when i buried it
next to an
"M"...



-© 2020

-

Just basically an accounting of
language as it is conveyed
between media types

namely,

Air, Silicone and Mail ;

in Air,
you have to
basically be ready to
respond within a reasonable
period, say about three or four seconds

upon Silicone, you could "afk" and then
mix a drink- rinse out the mixing
utensils and type a response
with some degree of
forethinking

in Air,
you could breath
in the real-time vibes that
trigger automatic subject sensitivity,
like, (something too disturbing for me to detail here)

upon Silicone, you would be able to digitally
sort and discard these disturbing elements
and then lie to yourself about the
true weight of the
conversation


in Air,
a comedian can
deliver a punchline in
order to impulse a laugh out of you,
even to the point of spitting out your wine

upon Silicone, latency can cause punchlines
to be misinterpreted as an offense, which
will likely sully those carefully
established digital
relationships

—

You
could encode
the Air in the fashion
that Native Americans did
with campfires and blankets,

but i would never suggest that
you try and breath Silicone__ !

nor pattern the "the ins and outs"
of breathing within the basic scope
of a vacuum in order to encode
it upon a microchip that
can only be read by
a machine—

either way, in case you
may not have noticed,

Personal Letters are —at this moment—
asphyxiating into blue screen
oblivion,
deep inside the
Lost Mailbags of Redundancy...




"Comm_Check"
© 2020 by Seranaea Jones
all rights reserved


.

-

she laid there on the carpet
like a fuzzy brown pillow
i could see her mid-mass
slowly rise and fall

small twitchings of her paws
caught my eye as she began
running in a yard of dreams,
expressing her excitement for 
                    it

a rear leg jerks followed by another
but they never seem to coordinate,
all the same i know she dogtrots
quickly in her vast green parcel

i think now her goal has just
been reached, her legs are
straight and she is softly
barking muted "yes"s
through her nostrils—

her tail wags significantly,
dissipating quietly vented
puppy treats...



"sleep dog"
© 2020 by Seranaea Jones
all rights reserved

.