[ToC]

 

4 POEMS

Melissa Jones

STILL DAYLIGHT

Man, holding a knife    stabbing the air          killing invisibles       drunk on Amazon herbal

Old cutting board knife    to his throat   acting out threats       killing cucumbers the night                         

before                     all of this happened          he was sober on air      swatting flies   a nomad

his life      whatever it may be: the corner      baby denies breast     a silent stench

he walks away in sour milk:   a mother never carried him       through sun  

terminated   and swift cuts around his inner light           still aborted   

 

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YARD SALE

Where:

When:

                              Far arson block with

knives.         great for back.    to school.

Clothes unbeatable   an economic kettle spilled sunny

side up the street                                                  sale: used

fluid

from your dialogue      cell phone. dropped.   listen.                      and pretend you like

worn clothes that tell the story of

his and hers sigh       in BIG shoes that laugh at the rawness of friction. 

 

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WHAT A DOLLAR CAN'T BUY:

The candies that you used to buy for a dollar went up to 2 dollars plus tax and now you’re left to steal

which is something your mother told you not to do but you did it

Anyways

when you walk out the security will catch you at the door.    

 

What a dollar can buy:

Toothless     is    the innocent gum line of his smile enjoying sweets      snot nose   little brother

Running     and smells      of hot urine     staining the

chocolate covered     shelves of affordable    treats          not this       one:  

He saves what he can buy to           run off with many:    his piss trail scent           lingering      

 

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FALL

The burnt- crisp ones attached to the sole,

The shoe lace tied with a fiber of leaf green

and the yellow  bright on the brim of jeans

blowing the oak kids        toward pine wood-streets   of

metal and brass        sweat air      bodily breeze

scattering the  red-orange drops            whenever the hands

are stained:     an attachment to white laundry

 

 

 

 

 


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