STANDING @ A BROKEN PHONE-BOOTH W/ MONEY IN MY HAND BY PRIMITIVE RADIO GODS FROM THE CABLE GUY SOUNDTRACK
no, i was not working on the southern alberta pipeline when i wrote this
yes, my still-bird hands have assuredly gone soft
but you do, in fact, desire a pops
want of large pumpkin, middle pumpkin, baby pumpkin
want of my spread-finger rice-wrapped palm
firmly ’round one earthly basketball some sunday afternoon
as if it were your ardent throat
want of whispering corner to my peter parker jaw
a perfect curve and line of stone
pouting yet prepared to eat any other fist
want of the patriarchy to dissolve like fresh snowflakes on teenage tongues
want of me to push-up-position hold you down
to all four corners of gigantic autumn dirt
but like, hey, maybe i don’t fucking want to
they are leaf-peeping again
i notice for the first time since min’s house
overcast ice of right-side tracks
them homes all torn down
replaced by ceremonious condominiums
primary colors of your primary partner’s weekday wardrobe
all of my brand-new sleeveless t-shirts are hot soft pink
tangerine sun sets over crescent heights to make way for crescent moon
mindful, i watch for the first time in 388 days
without taking photographs for instagram, snapchat or twitter
since the join of longing palms
since hazard-light barber-pole clouds on marda loop
breathe from the belly
smoke explodes out my nose
just before my season
your laughing eyes were round and also mirrored
planet-shaped but by hook or crook stars
a month from getting sick
a month from getting sober
not quite strong yet
not taking me close
can you please step back
to move far, far away?
justin chase jones is the garbage pail kid of contemporary poetry. they can be found pasting poems on city streetlamps. they are based out of calgary, alberta canada and some of their work can be found in various spaces online.
VAGABOND CITY 