Wednesday, January 22, 2014

Three Poems by Ken L. Jones

Mechanical Interviews With My Cerebellum

Probing long finger nails
Of late December
Whisper through old cigar smoke
Some nights I feel a thin connection
To the earth
And I get that Hank Williams
Ghostly feeling
Like I’m slowly dissolving
I live in such a world of nonsense
And that’s what I like best about this place
I deal in visions
I put them down as they come to me
They float in the air
Like the tendril branches
Of my giant pine tree
Where I espy the withering rattle
Of a face that skulls out into
A death most beautiful
Its all there already
All you have to do
Is to be fast enough to catch it
Like the long blobby lines that flow out of
The end of my paint brush
And land on the paper beneath them
Going where they will
And then heavy spurts
Of night eyes take me on a thrilling ride
Above the human condition
Until I wake up on a bus bench
Unzipping my personality
Moaning as I am impaled
On the coming of the dawn
Which looks like it was
Laid out long ago
By Carl Barks in the moon’s lesser gravity
The night has dissolved
In a muscular blur
And has left me alone
In this city of millions.

Foot Up The Chimney Of A Music Box Playing Backwards
Cut and paste streets
Lead me to an
Obsidian thrift store
Where I am reminded once again
Of my first love
She was like a wildflower
Cool and dark
She was the living personification
Of view master slides
And comic book spinner racks
She was a husky voiced blond
With Cleopatra eyes
With a body like an apple pie
Cooling on an ledge
That I just had to hobo steal
I couldn’t help myself
As I was drawn deeper into
The darkness for which she stood
Where she nibbled on my words and images
As if they were a shrunken head
On a Popsicle stick
As the gills in our throats
Scattered glue and pictures everywhere
Until they stretched out like Silly Putty
Across the summer sky
Nothing left now of any of this
But the petrified remains
Of this poem fermenting and decomposing 
In the lower intestine
A debriefing room that has all the velocity of
A jack-o-lantern hurtled by Brom Bones.
An Apron Full Of Seeds
The interplanetary bones of night
Are aflutter with the concrete and dust
Of barb wired pollution
Delicious mandolins played by unknown fingers
Echoing through the venomous meowing twilit moonbeams
As they become a super voluptuous mystery
Dipped in a cocktail sauce
That blows up into a throb of humid disco balls
The side streets turn into purpled rivers
That slice right through my mouth watering skin
Another day will soon come
When I will scrounge through the trash
That is half the battle of writing poetry
But until then I will be a starship daddy
Who never exactly stopped exploding like
An lonesome bottle rocket high over Max Yasgur’s farm
Ken L. Jones has written everything from Donald Duck comic books to dialogue for the Freddy Krueger movies for the past thirty plus years.  In the last three years he has gained great notice for his vast publication of horror poetry which has appeared in many anthology books, blogs, magazines and websites and especially in his first solo book of poetry Bad Harvest and Other Poems.  His is also publishing recently in the many fine anthology poetry books that Kind of a Hurricane Press is putting out.

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