He's found himself in the closet
After he lost to himself in a game of tic-tac-toe
And tied his lobster bib tightly
Then hid his cheat sheet, for the pop quiz he knew was soon to come

It's curtains for her
She let the cat out of the bag
And now she's up **** creek with ****** for paddles to go **** herself with
Right in the birth canal

Then we'll auction off the ******
We'll pass them off as European defibrillators
Maybe some extremist will want them
If we spew out enough mindless dribble

The All Time ****-Show is about to begin
We have
The Chronic Masturbater
The Hypochondriac
And The Pathological Liar

It was either sometime yesterday
Or sometime tomorrow
Or was it sometime today?
That you were all going to make fun of the boy with the cleft lip down at the laundromat?

Out of the three of you The Pathological Lair sticks out like a sore thumb
I can tell he was the runt of the litter
Who always bites off more than he can chew

I see the Hypochondriac has convinced himself he has eczema  
He rattles off all his symptoms
Inordinate filibustering  

Now there's the Chronic Masturbater
He looks like he's over the hill
He's only twenty one
But the blue circles under his eyes and the deep defined lines on his forehead denote his inelegant aging

I sign all your lives away in my horrible cursive
And now you belong to the ragtag trigger-happy posse of gun-jumpers
My billfold his happily filled
So I must go do some reconnaissance
Spy on those who have quit their day jobs
The fish out of water

You must find that thing that really rolls off the tongue with a nice ring to it
******!
*******!
*******?!
....*******?

No...
Go hang youself with dental flossed you home-schooled fool

Indentured servants we're just an after thought

My compliments are currency
on nights so filled with lunacy
and my billfold's not empty
for this made-up prostitution ring.

So what's the going rate tonight
for such a vivid beauty
'cause I'll haggle like, "You're just so right,"
with million dollar poetry.

What consciousness is it they have
when dressing and perfuming:
Is it I who play a simple game
or they who do the choosing?

And I who lack the self-control
of ending empty mornings
while sleep just turns their heavy dreams
to laughter at my mourning.

So when you see those male-eyed hawks
and pity prey they're chasing,
just know their death is coming swift:
the rabbit's hole chokes innards whole.

Restless leg syndrome
A hindrance on my being
Retching foam dribbles out
the side of my mouth
South it goes, down
to the ground.

Wound tight with salvia my
self-hatred flows in unity with it
The acidity of the bite bursts to flames
as the earth hits it

Worth every penny, I chuckle as
I chuck a bottle of pills into the
billfold of my coat.

"Won't this hurt?"
That's the point.
Right, back to the top

Restless leg syndrome
Catching on?
My mind can't contain one thought at a time
I spin on a dime, fine dining is the drug of
the millennial nines.
Hi! I'm super high today.

Just kidding, I'll never smoke ****
see me judging you in the corner?
I'm a straight laced, even paced
large tempered feminist *****.
Pitch me your best rich boy pitch
to get a date and maybe I won't chuck
your ***** into a ditch.

Hitch a ride down the road
Follow it now, down it goes!
Drop out quick!
Here comes the gun
run from it fast, till you reach the sun

Worship me or hate me, I don't really care.
Stare at me until you see who you wish
I actually was

t'was a sad story I read
when I found out you would be dead
by nine o'clock this evening

Did I tell you I plotted this reaping?
I peep in on your life from time to time
Crime is the center of my kind
Find me in the dark deep corners of
your mind, I'm always there
Seeing and watching but never debauching.

Have I mentioned I suffer from
restless leg syndrome?
It really is a hindrance on my being.

"Won't this hurt?", you ask
That's the point.
Right, back to the top

Gather up, all you roaming and innocent true eyed youths,
the bells that chime the maturing of years will dictate.
And our minds, even in dreaming, are flashing,overloading,constantly ON.
Burning ourselves back towards the sediment,
back towards the eve of light and the horizon’s sweet ascent,
the hope of the bettering of Man (Woman, Child, Subject, Dependent, Enemy, Statistic)
to be played out by actors unsure all over again,
Plot, attempt, market research, unlikely success, unforetold rapid decline
Walk on down that road.

Twenty-Three years of Searching and Bafflement
I still walk on down that road.
The air smelling of leaking chemicals of exported decorative garden plants
the odd fir tree to remind me of a progressive upheaval.
I’ve read about Everything, I’ve sought out Everything; I’ve tried Everything
And yet still unsatisfied.
And yet onward I trot....
Left with the only things I still enjoy doing
Reading, writing about reading and writing about life
listening to music (Both new and the old, same old...cycle ending cycle re-entering brainwaves)
Thinking about ******’
and occasionally enjoying non-self centered ***
(Giving, once in a while, such unexpected joy, and who’d have thought?..)
And always at the back of my head
wondering how if I could get hooked on some supposed poisonous deity
Billfold notes stained ******* or some equally widely condemned non-popular pariah seal
And if I managed not to impoverish myself and become alienated from friends and family
And the moral majority
Then perhaps I could evolve to enjoy even that.
What is pleasure and its pursuit if not some guarantee of routine?
So I continue walking down that road.

Away, away, soon to return another day
Fresher (hardly) enlightened, the same...
and still I cannot recommend to myself
anything else but walking.
For to which valley the wise one goes, who knows, who knows......
Turn left, turn right, only the principles of geography can begin to decide fate.
(Though I would suggest bringing an umbrella, every now and again, just in case....)
To search for others, who would bring a chance of difference, on that self-same route
who share jokes about this one man...
Who was walking down that road.

Two middle-aged youth ministers (perhaps)
In a convertible babble away
A dialogue but poorly understood
By a seeker wanting a burger and fries
                                                     and truth

Their message seems to be that a pilgrim
In search of meaning might find happiness
                                                     ­     and lunch
At a famed neon-y fast-foodery
And so I gird up my billfold and I go

I push the red votive button and wait
And wait
                    And wait
                                    And wait
                                                       And wait
                                                                ­             And wait

And in the end go empty away

her dyed blonde hair
stood out starkly against the grey concrete
as me and my girl take up squating
for the momentary grease on the public step
as the alligators swim round the stoop
looking for the next strong-arm sucker
they keep time tapping one raised finger
on the humid air
she rolls up to us
and tosses herself down ontop of me
my girlfriend slides exasperated smile
and shrugs off the bleach blonde sticky fingers approach

the rest of the sticky fingers chase eachother
around the parking lot hoping  to make ground scores
off eachothers trash by numbers life in motion paintings
she chases my illusion
her dyed blonde hair tangles my thoughts
so i lead her to a quieter spot on the public steps
and settle her into her vibe

the diameter of her rig matches the close quater passageway
so she greases the way with a wall to wall smile
thats more scary than reassuring
and brushing back the bleach blonde
and tries once more to speak to my billfold
with her open shirt peeky-boo
i dont bother to say it but i woulda opened
up and spilled the greenage to keep her from folding
just outa keepin the peace
my girlfriend glares fifteen flavors of
get rid of this clown at me
so i dish dirt and bills to slide her on her way

i feel bad for her
she is our friend
but shes just to much of the gain game in her
to see that we have long since moved on
i cant play captain saveahoe
turned that caped crusader out to the history books
and im just looking to do my
morning breakfast circus
scrounge a coffee bean and a honey roll
my girl rolls a smoke
the tropical sun dances on sandy soil
we are a happy pair of clowns
and thats all that matters

i've got your picture
sitting on an empty shelf
it's been there for years
all by itself
i might  dust it off
every now and then
wiping at the memories
of the days when

i've got your picture
that sits by my bed
last thing i see at night
as i lay down my head
you'd think i'd dream of you
more often than i do
with all that i have left
being my dreams of you

i've got your picture
inside of my billfold
so when i'm out and about
i still have you to hold
it's a bit torn and tattered
much like my life
still i've got your picture
to remember you by

When what's in the the mirror is satisfying
When what's in a head is finished growing
When what the tongue does is mostly lying
It's better off to just get going

When the palms have callused over
When the billfold is filled completely
When the lifestyle is of a drover
Nothing ever tastes as sweetly

O where
O where
can my baby be,
is she a dead mystery,
now just ancient history?

I have million dollar questions
& I stand alone,
holding the bag
with an empty billfold.

She wore swastikas
on her forehead like scabs,
etchings that perhaps
blinded her heart &
the bitterness did flow,
a lifeblood
hardening her sweet-soul.

She acted bold,
took wild risks,
pulled people from the line-up,
taking potshots with their emotions,
play-acting with other humans,
as if she were the only one
with heart break.

Well,
little did she know,
she had no monopoly on pain,
I did.

I went to a European restaurant recently
and it may have been in Europe too
It wasn't a bad meal
And the waiter presented me with a bill crowded with euros
Or maybe pounds
I looked at it
Then said to him
"How about paying me the bill you owe me?"
He gawked at me.
"How about paying me the bill for serving as your pressure valve. Do you know how many insurrections, how many assassinations we prevented by taking in your frustrated and disaffected?"
He continued to gawk at me.
So I continued.
"No, really. Do you know how much you owe us for saving you from the Kaiser, from ******, from Mussolini, from who knows how many more crazies?"
He gawked, not knowing whether to call the gendarmes or reach into his billfold.
I continued.
"How about the bill you owe us for showing some restraint? You know we could have hanged every **** and Fascist officer over colonel at least? But we didn't. Instead we turned them into Siemens executives and Fiat general managers."
He still gawked, poised to jump for a phone or maybe just shout real loud.
So I continued.
"How about the bill for making your mediocre artists into rich men and women? You know it's us who turned Abba into stars. It's us who built the Scorpions' mansions."
He finally said something.
"Scorpions don't live in mansions. They live in nests."
I got up and left, then paused outside,
rested the left sole of my Ferragamo shoes on a Ferro Concrete wall
And waited to get arrested by cops without guns

Belatedly, towing a rust-worn Saab, where
many dreams and adventures are wrenched
from a youngster's brooding petulance ...

Gravel crunches under a pair of balding tires
guttural screaming to a downbeat of debt
spewing silently from a tattered billfold.

What a present: timely to an empty fridge,
in the hallway, a growing pile of washing
impatiently reeking of malodorous intent.

-

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


.

My how big and strong you are
& so handsome, too.
And oh,
you love to have so much fun!
Oh let me join you,
please,
I do,
too.
You are,
you know,
I know
you are the one.

And look at the size
of your billfold!
Oh Darling,
let me lighten it for you,
I can find ways to make you pay.

But what about my eyes Sweetheart,
the light brown ones
you said
made your world move,
took the frown
off your pretty face
& your knees grow weak.
What about them,
tell me about them again, Doll?
Oh, if you only knew
how much that hurt.

**** the money,
please come back,
I only wanted you.

(20 minute poetry)

It's time to change the record,
to spin another disc,
time to forge ahead and
make that leap, to
take a risk.

I used to **** on rusks for breakfast,
I knew that couldn't last,
how to grow up in a careless world,
to leave what passed
back in the past.

Pay one more bill that's due in,
watch my billfold get thin while the
cats are getting fatter,
something's definitely the matter.

And the matter is material
so vital to well being,
keying in the pin code
finding cash flow on the overload.

Going red,
reached the top,
cannot stop,
on a camber to
amber, green
back to where I've been before, to what I've seen before,
if this is life what am I living for?

I've been depressed
can't be bothered getting dressed, impressed by lack of
motivation,
tranquillised by the situation,
reduced to this, a stinking wreck,
hand me the rope
where's my neck?

It gets better
always,
not many signposts to show which ways,
I go anyways down the least obvious route.

An escapism to fantasy or just the long road to reach reality?

It still looks like Oz
to me.

Today
Turned to yesterday
We wanted change
Yet all stayed the same
Our brain walked us away
From the same idea
Pestering our ways
How can a monolith be swayed
When tragedies are measured by graves
Look back at yesterday
How many ways did you
Make today look grey?

peice of me and cake and keys
tucked away in my right hand pocket
close to jewels
near my deep secrets
my deeper desires
hidden
until I reach in
to pull out my billfold.

unleashed to roam without
a chain have a home, to shelter them
from the rain. This amour was
growing from a pup into a great

Dane. He pulled tight on my black leather
collar. I was spent like a dollar squashed
inside his billfold. He didn't hold me
for long in his quivering hand. Passed me

up for a cup of dark coffee at the
newsstand. I just wanted a soft
warm lap, a spot to curl up
and take a nap. A smiling

face to greet me at the end of
his day. A ray of golden sunshine
when the sky is black as coal,
and the clouds are grey with snow.

two alternate titles:
1. Gander seeking goose that laid the golden egg
2. Incorrigible lottery dreamer
linkedin with previous poem I wrote
though modesty deters
crafty, lofty, nifty, thrifty... wordsmith
and Perkiomen Valley poet
i.e. yours truly quietly to gloat.

If lady luck smiles on me denote
big plans to relocate self and spouse
to some tropical island paradise
by the dashboard light
(the above line credited
to musician named Meatloaf)
upon arrival of my steamer
rather Ferry large boat.

A fool's errand finds me
emptying out billfold,
especially as the winnings
increase ...fivefold, sixfold,
sevenfold, eightfold, ninefold, tenfold...
ample resources to remould
living nonestablishmentarian existence
surrounded courtesy webbed, wide wold.

Paradise visage and eyes
a bulge with dollar signs
whets imagination with
Mega Millions ticket bought
for potential wealth
overtakes rational self
with delusions of grandeur caught
allow, enable and provide flirtation
with fate to experience rich draught
envision emancipation proclamation
from penury a distant battle fought

expect the usual outcome
after next drawing
to yield monetary naught
temptation for instant
mega millions eagerly sought
human foible to reach
until life lesson taut
for elusive *** of riches
streak of universal desire
and tacked clear of shoals,
where hard scrapple existence wrought.

This poor man's pipe dream
nsync with the milkmaid and her pail
where fanciful notions pluck me out
being day late and dollar short
essentially pennilessness in the extreme
story of mein kampf fortune teller
also known as Zoltar speaks machine
said contraption did foredeem
substantiated, kickstarted, corroborated...
courtesy an archenemy Joaquim
(fiend nixed) and his tall sidekick Kareem
both rogues could shine
figuratively impregnable longerbeam
and discern mine ill fate.

Meanwhile creative endeavors
and linguistic pleasure
thru the literary attempt
suitably with poetic third eye blind
palliative, yet less rewarding versus
garnering large sum of money
would be a dog send
allowing, enabling, and providing
arrogant stance where proletariats deigned
delivered by one blessed angel in disguise
redemption and salvation
considered thankful find
with challenges or commiserate

courtesy  poverty that doth grind
and complement via words of positive kind
feeble attempt where words synchronize
readers may espy hidden puns
(and divine inspiration - ha)
within this rhyme lined
to pry poem or prose from mind
deliberate semblance to communicate
and extract idea from cranial rind
analogous how stitcher doth tightly wind
a tapestry of rich and royal hue
while twittering and tweeting
“better luck next time.”

Well, the animals laugh from the dark of the wilderness
A baby cries hard in an apartment complex
As I pass in a car buried under the influence
The city's driving me out of my mind

I've seen a child, he's caught in the sad trap of gravity
He falls from the lowest branch of the apple tree
And lands in the grass and weeps for his dignity
Next time he will not aim so high
Yeah, next time, neither will I

Now a mother takes loans out, sends her kids off to colleges
Her family's reduced to names on a shopping list
While a coroner kneels beneath a great, wooden crucifix
He knows there's worse things than being alone

And so I've learned to retreat at the first sign of danger
I mean, why wait around if it's just to surrender?
And ambition, I've found, can lead only to failure
I do not read the reviews
No, I am not singing for you

Well, I stood dropping a coin into the pit of a well
And I would throw my whole billfold if I thought it would help
With all these wishes I make I should buy something real
At least a telephone call home

Well, my teachers, they built this retaining wall of memory
All those multiple choices I answered so quickly
And got my grades back and forgot just as easily
But as least I got an "A"
And so I don't have them to blame

Well, I should stop pointing fingers, reserve my judgment
Of all those public action figures, the cowboy presidents
So loud behind the bullhorn, so proud they can't admit
When they've made a mistake

While poison ink spews from a speechwriter's pen
He knows he don't have to say it, so it, it don't bother him
"Honesty", "accuracy", is just popular opinion
And they approve all ratings high
And so someone's gonna die

Well, ABC, NBC, CBS: *******
They give us fact or fiction? I guess an even split
And each new act of war is tonight's entertainment
We're still the pawns in their game

As they take eye for an eye until no one can see
We must stumble blindly forth, repeating history
Well, I guess we all fit into your slogan on that fast food marquee:
Red blooded, white skinned, oh, and the blues
Oh, and the blues, I got the blues! That's me!
That's me!

Well, I awoke in relief, my sheets and tubes were all tangled
Weak from whiskey and pills in a Chicago hospital
And my father was there, in a chair by the window, staring so far away

I tried talking, just whispered, "So sorry, so selfish"
He stopped me and said, "Child, I love you regardless
There's nothing you could do that would ever change this
I'm not angry, it happens
But you just can't do it again"

So now I try to keep up, I've been exchanging my currency
While a million objects pass through my periphery
Now I'm rubbing my eyes cause they're starting to bother me
I've been staring too long at the screen

But where was it when I first heard that sweet sound of humility?
It came to my ears in the ******* loveliest melody
How grateful I was, then, to be part of the mystery
To love and to be loved
Let's just hope that is enough

alternately titled: incorrigible lottery dreamer
big plans to relocate self and spouse
to some tropical island paradise
by the dashboard light
(the above line credited
to musician named Meatloaf)
upon arrival of my steamer.

A fool's errand finds me emptying out billfold,
especially as the winnings increase ninefold.

Paradise visage and eyes a bulge with dollar signs
whets imagination with Mega Millions ticket bought
for potential wealth overtakes rational self
with delusions of grandeur caught
allow, enable and provide flirtation
with fate to experience rich draught
envision emancipation proclamation
from penury a distant battle fought
expect the usual outcome
after next drawing to yield monetary naught
temptation for instant millions eagerly sought
human foible to reach until life lesson taut
for elusive *** of riches
streak of universal desire
and tacked clear of shoals,
where hard scrapple existence wrought.

This poor man's pipe dream
nsync with the milkmaid and her pail
where fanciful notions pluck me out
being day late and dollar short
essentially pennilessness in the extreme
story of mein kampf fortune teller
also known as Zoltar speaks machine
said contraption did foredeem
substantiated, kickstarted, corroborated...
courtesy an archenemy Joaquim
(fiend nixed) and his tall sidekick Kareem
both rogues could shine figurative longerbeam
and discern mine ill fate.

Meanwhile creative endeavors
and linguistic pleasure
thru the literary attempt
suitably with poetic third eye blind
palliative, yet less rewarding versus
garnering large sum of money
would be a dog send
delivered by one blessed angel in disguise
redemption and salvation
considered thankful find
with challenges or commiserate
and complement via words of positive kind
feeble attempt where words synchronize
readers may espy hidden puns
(and divine inspiration - ha)
within this rhyme lined
to pry poem or prose from mind
deliberate semblance to communicate
and extract idea from cranial rind
analogous how stitcher doth tightly wind
a tapestry of rich and royal hue
while twittering and tweeting
“better luck next time.”

Although the following poetic/prosaic material written January eighteenth two thousand and eighteen, I came across these encapsulated, enclosed, encoded, and encrusted with barnacle clad body electric of my trademark crafted gobbledygook today January third two thousand and twenty three.  
     Though the heyday and stellar popularity didst long since wane, I still enjoy listening to select song titles (to many for listing here along this virtual boulevard of broken dream) of this iconic Punk Rock band unique rapid fire machine gun punctuated trademark style still induces goosebumps IF only because my eldest daughter used to be a rabid fan.
     She even voluntarily recruited this papa (and asked me in her coy, diminutive, earnestly irresistible purring kitty cat demeanor if yours truly could taxi herself, and one or more best buddies, (whom she keeps in regular communication to this Green Day) to the the theatrical performance “American Idiot” being shown on Broadway. Hence I rented a vehicle, and nervously hightailed into the core of the Big Apple for the first time in my hermetically sealed seminarian like sequestered life.
     Unsure at the present status of this three (?) member all male musician troupe (with a moderate sized following at the zenith of their renown i.e. with quite a motley crue of groupies to boot), nonetheless at the height of fame and fortune experienced by said trio, a spurious whim spurred this middle aged chap to jot down his feelings of unbridled affinity toward said talented three person creative young men within a poetic format (left unmodified only if there appeared a typographical error, or an ambiguous awkward outdated word arrangement) will be appended below.
Billie Joe Armstrong,
Mike Dirnt, and Tre Cool,
which trio known
(the world wide web over)
as the band Green Day
composed lyrics and melodies
this listener did imbibe
analogous to downing musical fuel
no matter the lead singer
supposedly never graduated

from high school,
yet raw bits of primal utterance
approximated immense talent galore,
which excessive indulgence
with amber liquids of the dogs
or flagrant downing
consciousness expanding material
filled the airwaves of soundstage and/or studio
with snapping, popping, and crackling
rhythmic synchronicity evoking images
of warm from a Yule tide burning log.

I (a common, easy going, generic kid,
a garden variety and generic American Idiot)
spent childhood years
practicing the piano,
which tickling the ivory (way before
realization brought to my attention,
how elephants illegally
poached and slaughtered),
for shear sporting whim
pounded the keys with vigor and vim

speculated at how dissimilar mine fate,
would possibly be if dedication sustained
to be a self driven task master
while mollycoddling the baby grand,
perchance me billfold and financial accounts
would not be extremely paltry and slim
reflected then and now,
on one of those “what if...could a,
should a would a...” hypothetical queries
and wonders When Stopping By Woods
on a Snowy Evening  

if Robert Frost enshrined and rim  
mem bored viz signature ruminating
about “The Road Not Taken”
might fancy himself joining a seminary
(rather peculiar though from an atheist)
obeying behavioral edicts
(with no discipline required
from “religious fathers”proper and prim,
hence baring the habit as a nun
in a convent chances negligible to him

i.e. me, yet...all those mewing kitties
will more closely match my anthem
but un-natural suppression sans animal,
carnal, feral...predilections
finds thoughts quickly being
dismissed cuz of such
restrained celibacy codas,
and even preferring to be dangling
(literally), and holding on for dear life
from a rather straggly limb

even clinging with diminishing strength
resorting to contriving
a rip public kin battle Hymn
knowing likelihood
(When I Come Around)
for immediate salvation grim
er ring, and fading outlook
Whatsapp eared dim
getting anxious, and
minimally cautiously optimistic

that When September Ends piercing
me (a Basket Case)
flesh with pellets of cold rain
grip upon the slippery bark will induce
greater anguish emotional pain
unsure if mine demise will be a cometh,
as grim reaper doth gain
another mortal, whose life cut short  
will induce a gaping hole
within thy family chain.

I sure as hell get a lot of things wrong
With creativity and persistence it might go right
Branches breaking off in the wind, rain whipping horizontal
At times I lose it but it doesn't mean I can never win

I've lost a lot of time chasing my tail
Flipping through my billfold buying this buying that
It numbed me, shifted my focus, filled my space
I was collecting shinny things like a magpie

I tested myself over nothing, rotting meat
I didn't know my *** from my head
It's hard to clean the slate when in ignorance
When I ignore my arrogance, it becomes a sword to the throat

The ivories seems to say through the notes, we have an inspiring tone
A note that played here and there
Your today is certain, but tomorrow is followed by a question
Every note symbolic being like a prophecy
But one’s life has no guarantees
Warrant on caution
You seem to think you are stepping out
You don’t even realize you are fighting your own bout
It’s the battle of your heart and inner soul
Your mind has become like a wallet billfold
Your relish expense, but you are broke
Laughter surrounds you but you are the joke
Harmony has passed you by
Withy every given tear, it was a moment of your own fear
Your life having no direct pattern
If I were to choose for you a planet, it would be Saturn
Because you see constant pause without knowing the cause
Separate emotion into sacrifice
Understand true advice
So the tone is yet secrete
But your heart is full of deceit
The piano keys are trying to help you find your way
You must stop moving astray
One note being your time
Every moving step your combined
The piano notes have made your advice clear, and be wise
The strategy is too be energized
With that said, the piano keys have spoken