Attention class:
There's been a shift in our syllabus
There are some questions on my mind that warrant a new lessonplan: Does true love exist?
I will admit lately I've hypothesized that it's merely just a myth
Some wishful thinking from romantic half-wit heretics
So I'm assigning a soul mate science test
A pop quiz prophecy that could bind two of us together forever
Proving true love is suited for scientific vindication
If you respond to each question honestly
One trusty staple is capable of uniting this loose leaf love
Depending on your lead-based expressions
And their smudge-marked impressions
So please put your notebooks down
And pick your pencils up
Let's begin:

1. Is the beauty you possess easily represented in the thoughts you express?
Provide an ample sample size of your logic to suggest your loveliness works wonders.
2. Given that the fastest manned aircraft reached 4500 mph
If you spiraled down from the heavens at 9.8 m/s²
How long would it take for you to shatter record speed
And recognize that my arms are open to being your landing pad?
3. If your failures colored red and successes tinted blue
Became marbles piled high in mason jars
Would you let me embrace your entirety in the most worthy shade of purple?
4. Skin, rarely remembered, is the human body's largest *****.
Without caution, show me that your brain and heart
Are eager to become the king and queen of your anatomy.
That your organic vastness can infiltrate others' flesh majestically.
5. Think carefully. Who was the last man you kissed?
Are his lips worth enough for you to dismiss
A potential chance at creating unending bliss?
6. True or False: You would lie to me to spare a hurtful truth.
Provide evidence that you are comfortable revealing the undisputed details of your personal journal
Unraveling the spools of your most mysterious fibers.
7. Disprove Heartbreak Theory.
Show your work with mild-mannered mannerisms and sentimental illustrations.
Use crayons or colored pencils to emphasize your best intentions.
8. Chemistry is the study of the properties of matter.  
Using the periodic table of elementary emotions
Describe what matters most to you.
Remember to cite your sources of inspiration.
The inner workings of your engine that fuel your fondest explorations.
9. Fill in the blank spaces between my fingertips with your tenderness.
Is it a perfect fit?
If not, describe the characteristics possibly prohibiting this grip.
10. Cells are the smallest units of life.
Draw a diagram dissecting the little pieces of you
That belong in my possession at all times.
Include both strengths and vices.
Exhibit a sense of self-awareness that I can mimic
When I'm stuck inside my quicksand mind.

And one final reminder:
Remember to print your name legibly on the front page.
Failure to do so will result in catastrophe.
An unidentified masterpiece resulting in agony for you and I.
Practically reversing the critical proofs that your pen just described.
So let my eyes scan your signature with methodical joy.
And the curves of your cursive ink lines can become my mind's strongest ally.
Let me know you're willing to be known.
Because I need to know you're alive.

To paint my words
Even for myself
Legibly if only one time
For the earth quake to rise around me
Stitched together against each
shake each rock and tree and creature
The wind to pull at the hair
Of every person at whom I want to scream
The fury of the storm to
Make them hear for once

This quilted swell of sundry
Growing fungus and weeds
Shaking off vermin with each
Clap
Of thunder rolling underneath
Hills of cotton patchworked with the calm
Cool grass distracting
From the rage
The swell
Underneath

if i were in Paris
i would march for you
hold up a banner made from scraps of your favorite shirts

if i were in Greece
i would carve your face into a column of the parthenon with "God" written legibly across your lips
(for He is love, and i love kissing you)

if i were in China
i would cover myself in paper mache
disguise myself as a Terrecotta soldier,
move up to commanding officer and lead the whole army to guard your resting place
(because
you
are my emperor)

if i were in Israel
i would build a bomb shelter
and safe from the heat of those who hate us,
our bodies would discover fire

if i were in Argentina
i would lay claim on you
the way the country claims LAS ISLAS MALVINAS and vows to never forget

if i were in the United States
i would miss you the way that Obama misses his intelligence briefings
we would sit on our smartphones and text haikus back and forth as we sat back to back with each other

darling?
i love you to the comet Europe landed on
and back.

For the first time I talk to you
I hated you, I despised you, I disliked you
I forgot about you, father.

The two of you became distanced
The kid you once hit has now grown
I wonder, is he now an adult?

The first time, I slept at grandma's house
I was consoled by her
Being poor, she only gave a plastic straw and a tight hug.

The last time, mom only told me, "You have to write more legibly,"
and I cried
But then I tried, I tried, tried, tried, tried, I tried, I tried
But then you disappointed again
Impossible to refrain, you'd come back late
1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7. Too many to remember
Perfumed in alcohol,
You'd hit the wall,
You'd hit my door,
You'd hit my sister's door.
You mistreated my siblings.
I couldn't take it anymore
I deprived myself of my feelings.

The kid told me to forget you,
and you became a stranger.

Seven years have passed,
and two weeks have gone by
since a faint memory came back.

Is it time or is it wind,
that erodes the rock?

I called you, and timidly said four words to you.
Not many, only a few
Were you surprised,
that I had even tried?
We may never be a happy family of flying doves,
That I know.
What can happen in the future, that I have no clue
But shall we digress?
Happy birthday to you.
May we live at least another 50 years.

Thank you mother, I have a father.

Soft, gentle fur and I hope I write this legibly when I’m ninety. Will I make it to ninety?

My cat insists and purrs with comfort as I think of growing old. It’s too long, breath isn’t meant to hold this many memories, yours and strangers’. I grumble.

Does she dream like me? Would I purr if I slept soundly like her, with so very few needs during the hours of wake.

She watches me often, as if she knows, smirks and goes back to sleep leaving me an envious creature.

The stars look down upon the layers of raindrops that lay across the pavement.
The moon is wide awake tonight, keeping me company as the stillness of a sleeping world takes over.
Pathetic dreams mixed with nostalgic misery poison the oxygen I breathe in, and the haunting thoughts that plague my mind at midnight keep me from seeing the back of my eyelids.
What becomes of the repressions that fade to the back of my memory?
Another senseless worry.
I lay awake with this troubled mind that knows no release but the words that only pour so easily through ink and not through my vocal chords.
They say beauty is pain, but I say that pain is beauty.
You see these paintings that form to my flesh, once created with crimson paint on a clean canvas.
I took shame in the presentation but failed to read into the plot.
The stories that art portray, are such a beautiful thing.
I'll read you my stories, written legibly on my skin, in hopes that your eyes are open to the morals.
I shift my eyes to the light and try to muster up a smile, but I can't shake the image of you from my head.
The rain has come down hard, and a storm is brewing.
But even with the thunder, it is still a sound to lull you to sleep.
To induce subtle dreams of everything that tomorrow can be.
The skies will clear as they do after every downpour, and darling I'll be your umbrella until the sun shines again.
Just keep breathing.
Let me lift the weight from your shoulders, please.
I would be honored to take the chains that ensnare you, binding you at your feet.
I want to see you run free.
My soul doesn't break easily any longer, and can withstand so much more than it used to when I had encased it in ice, leaving it vulnerable to snapping at the simplest tap.
But loneliness can still draw a tear from these tired eyes.
I buried my heart some time last December, when the world became a shadow.
And sometimes I miss it.
Because on my quietest night, even the moon is leaving me now.
And as I watch this painful night turn into a pink sky, another hopeful sunrise, I wonder what this new day will bring.

-k.d.

i wait for a letter you
swore was coming to me:
insincerity wrapped up in an envelope
you said “my love i
write every word to spite you,”
but as long as you’re writing
it doesn’t bother me.
i’m choked up in hands
i was never blessed enough to touch
and syllables become a source of comforting.
love used to leak from
the tip of your pen
but now blood's the only ink that shows up legibly.
i give up on a letter i
thought was coming to me
i guess it was just a misunderstanding.

Next me is a wall
or rather a semi wall
for alluding to an imaginary pathway that guides
or rather
divides people who want to study in the casual study room versus the quiet area.

There is a circular hole in this black wall next to me
and past the black paint, I can see the particle board
that makes up this wall. Then past this particle board
there is space- nothing, a power supply to the outlets built in that I am using now , a camera maybe, cables to the tv on the other side of this semi-wall.

Next to that are my 2 wall chargers that charging my computer
and my phone. And of course my phone, computer
but also, Casio watch and two band-aids- barely visible on the white table background.

Before me
is my laptop
not you,
but my laptop.

next me is my water bottle
metal
a used paper towel
moist
hand cream
closed,

three books

my headphones

next to me is an empty seat
and you are not in it.

but you are not even so specific
as these objects,

you are vague and elusive

you are always leaving
whoever I think you might be

once
maybe right here even
opposite where I sit now
we sat together
and tried to study and couldn't
I gripped your thigh tightly  
and desire for you
and an assertion of your presence
and my true love for you
flowed through me
so legibly

and now the spirit of love
has left that person
and passed through so many others
who are also
not
here
now

-

"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,
                          No

Well then,

given the above
I find that
"ambidextrous"
might mean for me—

an embellishment in
compensation for
skills lacking in
both hands,

                    Definitively...


s jones
May 2021

.

Just how _
are you?
Please feel in the blank
legibly
and then answer the question
with 100 percent

You're not 100 percent?

You're not 100 percent anything?

So you acknowledge that you are still alive?

To have an opinion is to die a little

to be certain is to die a lot

Are you sure that is darkness and this is light?
Could it be gray hair and gray eyes you see

I don't mean to stare but do you know
what is on your face?

The legerdemain happening here
is legendary

I know I had my soul with me here
just a minute ago
and now it's gone

Shaindel (Sadie), variant of Shana Harris
died May 13th, 1959 exquisitely chiseled
alphanumeric characters legibly engraved
sepulchral casket entombing lovely bones
deoxyribonucleic acid repurposed into me
Matthew Scott Harris patronymic protector,
when I die taking family surname to netherland
who unwittingly named his youngest daughter
after his recently deceased father's mother.

Mortality encompasses subsequent cremation
never mind death of yours truly unbeknownst
mine soul will migrate towards deceased kith
kindred folks only known courtesy genealogy
descendents called Eastern Europe homeland
upon landing at Ellis Island émigrés hugged
immigration officials and illegibly scribbled
unpronounceable/ unreadable birth names
subsequently adopting common shorthand.

Chromosomes reconstituted genetic material
gifted from forebears ecstatic immigrants apt
to be regaled by relatives hustling newcomers
into fast paced frenzy, the latter gesticulating
at cityscape marveling over hubbub jabbering
babble synchronized in tandem with hawkers
and vendors selling, peddling comestibles,
gewgaws, papers, et cetera predating buyer
beware analogous to innocents abroad say
by George an American in Paris humming
Rhapsody in Blue.

Agog regarding novel sights never seen within
father/mother land, viz supposed New World
blitzkrieg eventually quieted, relegated, shelved...
analogous by Dickens perusing tchotchkes
commonly found within olde curiosity shop,
yet no matter acclimatization arose espying
eye opening merchandise, the dirt poor status
regarding bloodlines a couple generations ago
immediate deterrent experienced by Aaron
Harris (papa's father) as a boy, who provided
for his family, their hardscrabble existence
only somewhat alleviated thru hook and crook.

Please pardon poetic license usurped,
especially slight exaggeration of penury
promulgated concerning up by bootstraps
scenario evinced by paternal grandfather
after he attained and emerged out boyhood,
though destitution imprinted thru his infancy
until growing up hardened qua hard school
of knocks limiting him to eighth grade education.