-

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'm wearing the same old clothes,
binging the same ol’ shows,
seeing the days anastomose.
and waiting for my vaccine dose.

I’m humming the same ol’ songs,
dreading the rerun dawns,
trying to at least appear strong,
but becoming angry and withdrawn.

I'm tired of the same old faces,
of being stuck in these boring places,
of feeling my nights are wasted,
and dreaming of friends embraces.

I'm writing the same ol’ verse.
becoming increasingly terse,
knowing it could be worse,
waiting for the end of this curse.

i breathe in
i breathe out
crossing fingers
black out

down my drink
tryina think
i don't blink
why do you?

got somena hide?
take it in your stride!

ride wit me
vibe wit me
be dope wit me
got hope wit me

rubbin shoulders
breaking boulders
we giants
ain't said we compliant

hate the game
not the player
ain't no shame
say a prayer

for yoself
and for us

what's the fuss?

we be  levitatin
xmas yet?
we celebratin

This place
It feels familiar
Darkness envelopes me
I stick my hand out
At arms length is a wall
Four corners
No door
Trapped

I reach above
Right over my head
Is the top
It feels familiar
These wall's surrounding me
On all sides are
Damp

I take a deep breath
The air is dry
Despite the walls
Each breath leaving me
Makes me thirsty

Suddenly, there's a light
Seeping through the walls
It was dim
But just enough
I find it
The way out

A handle
Clearly wan't there
Before
I open the door
And sprint through

SLAM!
Darkness
What happened?

This place
It feels familiar
Darkness envelopes me
I stick my hand out
Four corners
No door
Repeat

Saying the same words
Louder
Won't make me listen

I can rewrite this poem
as many times as I want.

that’s the reason I do this.
the reason I sit up at night,
scribbling down sentences
that may never reach anyone’s ears,
stringing together words
that may never inspire anyone,
forming poems that may
never actually matter.

that’s the reality of it.
one day, these poems
aren’t going to be remembered.
maybe they aren’t even
remembered now.
maybe when they
reach my readers,
they go in one ear
and straight out the other.

but here, on paper,
I can erase what happened.
here, I can change the story.
here, I am in control.

I can rewrite this poem
as many times as I want,
but I will never be able
to rewrite the past.

I can see the way
Your rhymes they play
Your head
You've got that blame
On pause
Now hit repeat
I don't do rhymes
Patterns
Circles
Or anything
That spins my head
Because I get dizzy
And then my head hurts
Then I get awkward
And I don't like it.
Then I get nauseous
And I hate it.
And then someone out there
Decides to hit
Repeat.

All the world's a spiel
tall tales torn from a heart; peeled.
Everyone desperate to feel
As they all lay under their ends heel
So many roles we'd play
Just to get a little more warmth today
Surging sweaty waves
Scratching at ever ending holidays
Putting hearts into ATM'S
For the roulette wheel of freedom again
Clamber up the display pen
Just to hide our broken sealed goods, friends.