If fools could speak of geometry,
you would be the right angle,
while me, obtuse,
I find light in the darkest places,
where the glint of the moon turns back time,
I look back,
And find you cloaked in fog,
traipsing towards me,
with no rhyme,
strafing while they bleed,
we are cogs in the handset,
we are all lost teeth,
broken and shattered,
fallen to those underneath.

It was the December of '91,
and Larry asked me to come with
him and some ladies he knew
from Cameron Christian to
some **** yogurt shop on
Dead Dog Ave.

Three brunettes and a blonde;
at the time
I didn't care much for brunettes,
but god, god, god,
the blonde
with the crystal grey eyes,
the wrinkled floral print dress,
an optimistic ***,
and shaky feet
every single time
I made the eyes.

Sarah and Jennifer (two of the brunettes)
smelled of Glade-Feces-Blanket-Spray,
the third was far too young
to undress,
and I nearly strangled my beautiful blonde
when she mouthed, "Eliza."

I kept talking up the
fact my dad had just kicked me out.
I told Eliza I had the most magnificent
apartment
a bachelor could buy,
she kept averting her eyes,
shifting subjects like
playing cards,
my hands kept clinching,
clasping,
aching,
"Be right back, purty ladies."
I headed for the bathroom
leaving Larry to ******
Jennifer Glade.

I looked in the mirror,
I remember giving myself
a pep talk,
but I can't for the life of me
remember anything I said.

I remember pulling a dwindling
bottle of Black Label from my jacket.
I had taken it from my ******* dad,
the night he yelled, yelled, yelled,
until I was in some low-income complex
with a bunch of lowlife, ******
fuckups.

I ****** off the remnants.
Combed, recombed my greasy hair,
went back in,
just in time to hear
Jennifer Glade spout her stupid mouth,
"Larry, I told you I have a boyfriend."
"He's a ******* idiot."
She started to whimper,
said something like he was a regular sweetheart.
The regulars are so boring.

Larry stood up,
accused her of leading him on,
the acne cashier asked us to "pipe down",
I directed my stare into his acne-framed
irises.

I walked quietly toward him,
I could feel Larry and the girls
tracing my every feature.
"Just leave him alone,"
said my blonde little sweetie,
I turned back to her briefly.
Her skin looked like milk,
I wondered if it tasted like milk,
I kept my feet on track,
redirected the gaze,
back to my heavy-breathing cashier.

I got eight inches away from his face,
he fumbled some words,
that left a bad taste.
I could see my reflection in his retinas.
I looked clumsy and circular.
My milky, blonde Eliza would
never go for a circular **** like me.
This conclusion
coursed through my veins with
irrational speed.

I shot the acne cashier.
Right in his stupid, acne-framed iris.
The gun had been my grandfather's.
He had killed a black boy in the '30s with it.
Got to love legacies.

The brunettes were screaming.
I think Larry was trying to reason with me,
or maybe he was throwing up-
somebody threw up,
anyways,
I shot the young one first.
She had annoyed me most.

Then Sarah Glade.
Then Jennifer Glade.
Eliza began to run.

I jogged after her,
she frantically searched for a phone,
and my milky blonde
found one.

I stopped at the doorway,
rested my head on the frame,
listened to her cry into the handset,
begging for the police.
I opened my lids,
silently strolled up behind her,
with my left hand
I grabbed her optimistic ***,
with my right hand
I pulled the trigger.
She splattered onto me.
I felt successful.

I walked outside.
A silent,
still Austin night,
not even a dog on the street.
Larry was crying.
I told him to shut up.
They were *******.
Asked him for his lighter.
He opened his car door,
dug in his center console,
buried under 6-feet of cigarettes
was a lighter,
he popped the trunk,
I grabbed the gas can.

I erased Friday's mistakes,
and found Larry had driven off without me.
I walked to my low-income home.
I had a lazy Saturday.
Read an interesting story in the Guardian on Sunday.
By noon on Monday,
they were pointing cameras at me.

"Is there anybody there?" said the caller,
"Six ten eight oh one two four three nine?"
And his ears attuned to the empty hum
Of the long-forgotten line;
And an LED on the handset
Flashed, for a moment, red,
And he dialled the number a second time:
"Is there anybody there?" he said.
But no one replied to the caller,
No sound but the dialling tone
Came drifting into his waiting ear
As he held that haunted phone;
But only a host of phantom listeners,
Of spectres weak and strange
Stood hearkening to that human voice
That echoed around the exchange;
And he felt in his heart their strangeness,
And his heart was afraid and nervous,
With his hand on the final digit
Of that number not in service;
For he suddenly tapped the receiver
And spoke on that line of dread:
"Tell them I called, and no one answered,
That I kept my word!" he said;
Ay, they heard him replace the receiver,
And his mumbled cursing later,
With the usual subdued but enthused delight
Of the switchboard operator.

Backed and sponsored by the cabinet
Our heads on the server and internet
BCI experiments while we're under the duvet
Foot-soldiers follow orders on their handset
Rockwell is not paranoid
They've seen us on the TV,
iPad, iPhone, and Android
The BCI app that makes us annoyed
Please God, destroy that satellite with an android
My doctor is like Sigmund Freud
Give him the anti psychotic steroid
For making money off the unemployed

I hate the fact I love u

I threw a way a girl, just to get back with u
I wish I paid attention to what my friends said you would do
You left me in the dark
Alone and fragile
Lets be friends lets just be friends
That's what you said to me

Broke my heart,not for the first time
I wish i dropped my handset
And didn't reply to your texts
After collecting your items
I should of let you walk away
Instead, instead I asked you to stay

Everytime i look at you
I fall in love again
I hate the fact i love you
I hate the fact i love you
I should of let you disappear
Instead your in my mind, but your never here.

I'm scared, I fear your next move
Can we just be friends
I want more, I want more
Did u plan this all along
Foolish behavior was always my specialty

I'm torturing myself
Don't even bother giving sympathy
I'm a danger to myself

Telemarketers get a bad rap.
People call us impersonal drones.
We’re just trying to eke out a living,
armed just with a script and a phone.

My place is called “Cubicle City”.
It’s the dream of a lifetime for me:
Five thousand square feet of space underground
where the bowl-a mat once used to be.

Joey is one of my workers,
For years he’s been one of my best.
He knew how to deal with rejection
and make many more sales than the rest.

Just lately, his work has been suffering.
Last night he was crying on phone.
I see he’s been calling one number
far too often. I see that it’s his own.

Now I am a curious fellow
about all these short calls to his home.
I pick up my handset and dial it
to tell her to leave Joe alone.

Of course I would get a recording;
A woman’s voice, honeyed and sweet,
It seductively says “leave a message,
when you hear the sound of the beep.”

Puzzled, I asked his co-worker
To tell me, when Joe’s not around,
“What has been up with him lately?
I notice that Joe has seemed down.”

Judy tells me that Joe’s wife had left him.
For weeks he’s been living alone.
The calls have become his obsession;
Just to hear his wife’s voice on the phone.

I nod, but elect to do nothing;
I, too, had a wife of my own.
I recall when she left me- just four barren walls
and the sound of her voice on the phone.

-


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—

exhausted,

you can only
whisper
into it—

"i love you Daddy"

and hope this time
he can feel your
breath...


s jones
Nov 2021


.

I didn't reach here by watching where am going,
But by remembering where I have been.
The roads I have walked, the tears cried, the quagmire of
despair I trudged, the waves of ravenous immiseration
the million Heartbreaking incidences trampled
the moments many contemned me and my family...
I have reached here by always realizing the hardship wasn't
all for nothing and that every thorny road was preparing
my feet to go the distance, to walk the extra mile…
Far from the end, but the worst part is over, the jinx is broken,
I can now touch my wallet and smile, I can now dial a handset instead
of walking four miles to make Mama a call... I can now appreciate
every drop of water because I've been to the wells of hell
and lifted the fragile *** of my hopeless reality until here.
It isn't a garden of roses, but even roses have thorns and as long as I keep
the memories of the past, as long as I never forget that
I have seen worse, I will always find challenges easier
than they ought to be after all the load of destiny never gets
lighter, the donkey of our faith just grows stronger. Forgive the
past, but never make a mistake of forgetting the **** you've
been through however pungent the stench of reminiscence maybe.
I am who I am now and I will always try to be better and to want more
Because that’s what God made me for, to dream big and go dream chasing…
I’ve ploughed through the waves and it’s made me a better sailor
Who’s always aware that storms happen but they can be overcome.
Ain’t no need watching where I’m going, just need to know where I’ve been.

A  monkey  cap
is  needed   to
protect   my  head
so  i  have  to
earn  to
purchase   that  thing.



AN  OLD  BICYCLE
IS  NEEDED  FOR
ENVIRONMENTAL  F­RIENDLY
ENERGY.


MY    HEART  WILL
WORK  PROPERLY

   AND    
  
   THE  WHOLE  BODY
WILL  EXERCISE.


AN   OLD  MODEL
HANDSET   IS  REQUIRED

TO  LISTEN   FROM
RADIO.



IT   WILL   ALSO     SUPPORT  THE
HEART'S  HEALTHINESS  AND
FOR OTHER  PARTS
ALSO.

I have been putting up with you
For days and days
Weeks and weeks
Months and months
And even years and years
Your service has been average at best
And appalling at worst
Issues here, issues there
You name them, you have them
Frequent call drops
Truncated conversations
Total silence at the other end
Whatsapp calls getting disconnected
Nearly every minute
My own voice echoing
And I can go on and on
Every time I complain
You have your excuses at the ready
Geographical conditions
Mobile network settings
Problems with the SIM card
Or for that matter, the handset
It's a miracle
That I didn't die of sheer boredom
After listening to your nonsense
Anyway, I decided to give you a few chances
And thanks to my frequent complaints
There finally seemed to be a bit of improvement
In the overall service
However, I should have known
That it would be too good to last
The same issues started recurring
As always, I have been exceedingly patient
But now things have really gone too far
When a customer is deprived
Of a service as basic as sending a text message
It means the time has come
To end the relationship with the service provider
Once and for all

He's fixing time..literally
looking at my Swiss cuckoo clock
to find out what's wrong


I entered the semi detached house from the front
After several attempts at the bell
the millionaire opened the door

I walked past a sparse interior into the repair room
a small room with a lathe and every form of tool you can imagine
1950s magazines lie under tin boxes full of essential stuff

I ask what the old handset gadget does on the wall?
It's a remarkable build of switches and cables
"Thats the intercom so I can speak to her in the kitchen"
We study the cuckoo clock
We can't fix time, no fault found
Time is not broken
The only currency on show is kindness

He sits in the nursing home with his wife
"The house is up for sale and that's that' he tells dad
With no kids to leave his money will go to charity
Time well spent on the right stuff
Time spent on kindness not greed