03:32

i'm mark jones

Fri, 22 Feb 2013 23:21:51 -0600

basketball has lost itself. i don’t get it.
everyone’s running around, knocking people
over, holy shit, that’s a foul.

he tries to stop the hemmoraging here,
a little bit. that piercing look right now,
when there’s a struggle, 59.9 here in the
quarter. well over 500, the battle on the block,
the more, the merrier.

through december i grit my teeth. i pull in
the big lines, call time out, i don’t know if
i want to take that.

we’ll be right back, we’re intrigued,
we never had a chance.

exit here

Fri, 22 Feb 2013 14:16:00 -0600

I spend all my time looking for that
fucking sea turtle,
the kind the locals say died off when the tourist boats polluted the reef,
the one that will deliver the message when
god has forsaken me.

I don’t have much use for satan but I found him,
bleary eyed under a bay rock,
waiting for the next reason to excuse himself,
sink his teeth in and parasite,
just as scared as the rest of us.

I french tip my nails, french kiss
the only love I’ve ever known.
Pardon my french, but fuck that sea turtle,
I want to save myself.

Winter hardens, freezes over, flakes off,
I am most inspired by interstates,
cosmic-like tunnels of snow or stars,
it doesn’t matter which.

The boxes are packed, I find mostly angler fish,
the light at the end of the tunnel and
sharp teeth in a sunken skull.

I drive forty-five, I can’t see the lanes,
but the rear view promises headlights,
wheels in the tracks of my bald tires,
suggesting that possibly, maybe,
their operators trust me to lead them home.

the devil dances

Wed, 20 Feb 2013 17:38:00 -0600

When you are scared you just have to buckle down, let it engulf you and then… Let it go.
Beyonce said that.
The pursuit of happiness is the programmed goal, most people are too stupid to realize. Everybody is always trying to sell it to you in cellophane packages.
All the famous people, the millionaires, they’re not thieves. They were just smart enough to say:
I am better than this.

Most of the time when something nags on your brain, you should pay attention because it is trying to tell you something.
This is why I don’t understand money problems, or why my coworker remains half of a volatile relationship.
I’m not better than anyone, I’m just saying its better to have a hawk’s perspective, rather than a dove.

Hip hop occupies no disheartened grooms, no four years of silence, no verses of self-pity.
It’s just, you can’t stand them, so you drop them. It’s just, they’re scared of the future, so you hop in a DeLorean.

I am just learning to let thoughts consume me, without feeling the need to express myself. This is not one of those times.
Your attitude, not your action, determines the outcome. Don’t get greedy, take what you need.
It is okay for a song to ring in your head for the remainder of the day, it is not annoying, it just is.

I wear the flowers in my hair, the frog pin on my grey v-neck that shows my tattoos,
I roll dice for fun.
In slate grey combat boots, black mascara, I step to the plate,
Bold as always, to say: Tupac lives.

here is your american history x. so you want to live the good life,so you want to own the house on...

Fri, 18 Jan 2013 03:32:13 -0600

here is your american history x. so you want to live the good life,
so you want to own the house on the hill and the stick figure family.
here is your minivan, your five cents on the dollar, your television set
that grows smaller and smaller until you are only an audience.
here is your free love, if that means pocketing every last penny and
conveniently forgetting the woes of whereabouts & you and me.
here is your fight club dream team, professional league hockey or
football or whatever gets you through the night. here is your silver cord,
your organized religion and pockets of government, what if it’s not enough?
what about anarchy? you don’t have to burn things down, or
cry or write your congressman. what if you didn’t reject it all,
but thought at least to prod at the weak spots?
what if you were taught to ask questions?

submersion comes firstyour arms as leadwater pools & calloused feetthe mirage of your face for...

Fri, 18 Jan 2013 03:23:03 -0600

submersion comes first
your arms as lead
water pools & calloused feet
the mirage of your face
for the first time in weeks
then there is hyperspace.
light moves, a wormhole
but less eternal and
no one cares
what comes next
you want to say
“i miss you”
you don’t know how
you can’t miss someone
you never had
quiet when the heater clicks off
google all the answers
you turn your head at silence
wishing on JPEGs of shooting stars
frozen in time
at least yours to keep
at least this picture can’t leave
does not possess the capacity
to forget

You see from the edge what you can’t see from the center.

Wed, 28 Nov 2012 10:16:20 -0600

You see from the edge what you can’t see from the center.

"After I’m gone, your Earth will be free to live out its miserable span of existence, as one of..."

Sat, 24 Nov 2012 01:13:56 -0600

“After I’m gone, your Earth will be free to live out its miserable span of existence, as one of my satellites, and that’s how it’s going to be..”

- The Brain from Planet Mars

bands make her dance

Tue, 20 Nov 2012 00:01:02 -0600

half off salads and sandwiches, bar & grill
busy with college kids and bears fans.

home has a humiliating loss, i am losing tips,
most people look for a every reason to be mad at the waitress.

there’s a guy somewhere distant and we trade
illness like collector’s cards. it’s my turn to be sick.

hearing parallel with the evening special,
i spend more time in my head

throwing limes at the fry cook, thinking
of course there’s one that got away.

A ghost over Chicago, photo bombing my skyline picture.

Mon, 19 Nov 2012 16:01:16 -0600

A ghost over Chicago, photo bombing my skyline picture.

i'm sick of hearing about petraeus

Fri, 16 Nov 2012 23:29:13 -0600

fear is a damn good cyclist,
and i am turning pages

on thought forms, learning
any one thing can become the

only thing. pyramid tiles
in the kitchen, cold fronts,

pads of my feet laughing at
figures of buddha and

salem hysteria. thinking of
years ago, the age i believed

by now, of course i’d have
a better life.

we could probably live on mars

Fri, 16 Nov 2012 08:56:11 -0600

the world doesn’t want a story of apocalypse
so i caught guilty saline
on the edge and talked them down.

turned them into drops of quality paint,
foreign exchange professors &
dead leaves on canvas.

i dreamed about blue-grey bodies for a long time.
on the sidewalk, their silver cords
dangled northwest of the figures,

floating like ballooms or plasma.
it was brilliant. the air in 5-D,
when was the last time you looked around like that?

grey blankets

Wed, 14 Nov 2012 07:34:30 -0600

i wrote mostly from the confines of a bed,
grey blankets,
a fan churning at the foot even through winter.

he doesn’t understand.
i stay quiet,
let him talk of work, the car he almost bought.

we get sushi, extra wasabi,
the waiter asks of my diet like its something offensive.
i don’t care about the soundtrack here.

i trade currency for more tattoos,
others twist my arm like its their own,
not unlike pretty much everything else.

roots. stolen bike, baby greens

Mon, 12 Nov 2012 23:37:53 -0600

we threw away the grey towels, pistachio-
romaine and baby greens salads.
i could not be bothered to love you.
my deadset attitude readjusted,
like you said it would. i could
not see the light,
nor watch the movie, condemned in
self-defense,
i want to learn judo, wrap
my nose in
strong language, half-added
heartaches, just for the taste.
& i would not settle for the
half acre taste in june,
nor the orville centers in light switches,
the longing essence that would not
be okay with just enough.

a series of short introductions

Mon, 12 Nov 2012 17:52:35 -0600

i am pieced together by fragments of a longer tale, recording not what i want but what i can.

i always believed truck drivers honked at every woman on the interstate, and that every woman was unmoved by obscenities through the passenger window.

persistence seems worthy only of astronomy, because cosmology is the only thing that goes on forever.

third degree burns to the knuckles are trivial in the scheme of things.

the catalyst for the shift remains a mystery- perhaps i was lost, too exhausted to continue on the material plane. perhaps i could not bear to think of you for another second.

I like your poetry very much. I've been looking for Tumblr writers who "push out of the frame," so thank you for the refreshment.

Mon, 12 Nov 2012 12:49:36 -0600

oh, thank you. i’ve greatly enjoyed your blog as well!

can you control my next life?

Mon, 12 Nov 2012 12:48:00 -0600

the deep end is not deep enough.
not bothered to examine oddities,
not in a real way.

blonde, hazel eyed and very pretty,
& also hinting at madness, or genius.
others, reluctant to come close.

attack books, shipped by the series,
tear apart volumes like a hungry wolf.
warnings of isolation come with

lessons in ascension. press on.
what becomes important isn’t
how it is done but that it is done.

there is always more to study.
become rabid, outlining symbolism
of a perfect number three over cocktails.

or take hours to explain the root
relationship between light and dark,
interconnectedness and quantum theory,

when all that is asked is
“how are you doing?”
humor, criticize, & chastise.

learn quickly, keep safe the deep part
that knows behind painted red lips,
for lips are all they want.

a birthday approaches, plan for cake
and vodka, normal. no talk of seekers
or a bigger understanding,

do not bring up einstein’s relativity,
or dali’s existence as his dead brother,
or young’s particle-wave experiment

that proved results come as we expect.
instead discuss work and so-and-so, who
someone slept with &

who hasn’t come back for his shirt yet.
life is more automatic, progressive.
content is found in leading by example,

maintaining standard, not feeling so alone.
easy to discover the law, hard pressed to
live enlightened.

i. with the dark night comes dragon blood, the hanged man & exactly what you asked for. xxx...

Sun, 11 Nov 2012 17:48:00 -0600

i.
with the dark night comes dragon blood,
the hanged man & exactly what you asked for.
xxx marks the spot on fresh cotton sheets.
the bathroom smells like lemon, the salt lamp
drones gossip again. unspeakable isolation
transpires through the silver of the french doors,
meanwhile, the rest are asleep and dreaming.

ii.
sometimes days are decades. you buy soy
candles, julienne peelers and empty packages,
loving less rhetorical questions and candid
things. in search of god knows what, but
still not sorry.

iii.
it rains for twenty minutes. the sky gets dark,
you can’t remember if it’s daylight savings. it
doesn’t matter. life passes in brake lights, concrete
medians & an occasional good song. all you see:
a chance to dissipate, a warm place to hold your head
& a hollow clock with about four reasons to detonate.

mutant flies

Sat, 10 Nov 2012 19:46:46 -0600

come, see, conquer & become disconnected,
unbound by the space-time matrix,

slowing down for the yellow lights.
everyone knows, pay attention and the object will vanish.

defy gravity. grill tension for the sound,
release ego for the fibre optics. muse over human dna.

build prisms of light, but don’t forget to breathe, or think
to hell with howling at the moon.

november roars, taking with it the gulls, the boat shop in south haven & the sinewy figures on...

Fri, 09 Nov 2012 09:49:20 -0600

november roars, taking with it the gulls, the boat shop in south haven
& the sinewy figures on the neighbor’s doorstep.

warm touches didn’t make a difference. i hid my frustration
for several months until a growing weight

forced me incognito. i found a bloody tooth in the shed.
oh, the porch light is out.

until a bun on my skull felt like knives, until the casino stayed open all night,
until i begged your pardon,

again & again & again.
spread legs, vote for change.

coasters & fine furniture

Fri, 09 Nov 2012 08:12:48 -0600

the dishes are stolen from boxes
in the garage, tucked away with bolts
and a distant cousin’s yellowed books.

say goodbye to these virgin arms.
morning comes too early for those who wait,
you leave for work, i’m still naked and nocturnal eyed.

the walls are endlessly beige.
the headboard is sensible, i am cracking my teeth,
wanting to rip the down comforter to shreds.