Weeping Windows

Driving can be an art, too
Especially from the passenger side
where the follicles of tree trunks are open to be combed
and the brambles are open to be trimmed
into the forms of moose, absent gravestones, and gaudy arms
Museums of identity
"The politics of remembering and forgetting" are of no consequence here
Where the mustard fields are your blank pages
and the pine needles fall into their inky place


Equilibrium Collision

A collection of the dregs
Cowboy hats, hoods, and over-sized ball caps
A pocket of hotels line the highway
competing in their luxuries
The concrete pours over spruce and pine
The steel and glass enfold the passengers - enveloped by polyester and plastic
Snow lands on salt and sand
While snow lands on dirt and branch


Roland Barthes with a Remote Control

A transport truck totaled with an anonymous driver
All that matters is the content of the cab
56 Dead
1036 Injured
9563 Missing
~ 6 billion Jaded
The death of the author, the subject, the dialogue



Hear Those Sleigh Bells Ring-a-Ling

Purple Skies on the 407
a Christmas Tree of a city
blazing and terrifying
the lights stretch on its plastic limbs
Walmart on a Black Friday
like angry cottagers pinching heels
with shopping carts
a seething race to the checkout
A minivan derails

swings through an intersection
thuds into the snowbank
All because of the falling snow

sprinkling on the passenger seat window
The child dreams of Father Christmas

Copyright © a contemplation (Emily Jones) 2013. All rights reserved.