A flower crucifix taped to a light pole
on an off-ramp by the gas station
The planted sod has molded together
The curb is crisp and clean



September 4


Power lines shaped like medieval kings
replace the white pines
clinging to an autumn sky

The brick tells nothing 
but wet or crumbling or dead

Stinging comfort of a dry and pale echinacea 
a soft warm cloth to wipe the table
Every season brings its memories 



Black Swan

Rip your eyebrows off your face
food is poison
Clip your nails to your knuckle
shot shot shot
buy me a drink
Bleach your ass until it burns
holy god I’m covered in scum
seven eight nine steps to avoid razor burn
billboard airbrush fucker disgust
Slice your hips and shear the fat
mantra mantra
Paint your face until it’s gone
Track your progress on your YouTube channel



Business Casual

All these plastic bodies with their heads lobbed off
so you can imagine yourself in their place
You can't buy just the one
Have to have a set
Now you'll have something to match
something to wear
Now you'll have something comfortable
Now you're some thing, worthwhile
Let's get that conversion up
Our average dollar is sucking




Soon this won't be your home
You'll come back to appreciate the way
the light falls on the leaves
the quiet scent of this place
wood floors and soft hum
Family is somewhere, unheard
Standing alone in the house you grew up in
Leaving in September


Say Yes to the Dress

Time to work
with bowels and stomach evacuated
A nausea over static bridal magazines
Can’t sleep next to a fiancĂ© burning
and sticky with sweat
searing into the mattress
Come to the living room and smoke a bong on the center of the couch
close enclosed enclosed
All winter we cry for dry pavement
when the heat arrives we long for relief




A searing into the mattress
too nauseous to turn over
like I should    burst with child
A French braid too tight too loose
The dining room chairs slightly askew
wipe the linoleum
this will never come out
Face down in purple carpet that was once beige
the streaks on the window don’t go away
The candles submit to the hallway that seeps in
smoke up and go to bed


Tyler Durden

A set of purple clouds
to frame the lightning forks
Sitting in plastic chairs on concrete balcony
grasp the metal railing
Born in 1989
we pray for fire
These five floors would collapse on us
I would dive for that tree
I would kiss you and cry
How awful, she says, that would be to die
crushed by the building
or by flood or wind
Slouching copper
we absorb the shock
wired to the ground
we dig at our scalps
refresh the browser
we pray for fire



Drunk singing
carries to the fourth floor
can't sleep with the window closed
or the blanket on
Shelves wait to be assembled
piles of books in order
The blinds cracked with paint
A shawl meant to be a seat cover
crumpled and failed
Posters leaned against walls
the nails carved out the drywall
The jade plant has mites
The spice jars empty
I can make you pop tarts 




A family of truth-tellers
who pride themselves on being right
but not outrightly so
It is necessary to hide your triumph
for show



I'd never taken a picture of me and you
I could never see myself with you



Stationary in a carousel
a thousand tiny mirrors refract myself
A hat you once told me looked silly
sits in dust behind my drawers 
I only know myself through all of you


Good Luck, Take Care, Godspeed

We'll never be buddies, no

But I stretch my hands out, palms out
face down
I hope you're happy
I'm happy
All the best
Good vibes
and positivity
all the past
Hands out, palms out
face down


You Lost Me

It's like beautiful arty girls in scarves with dangling earrings
Sommmething, something
Something nearly, or overly?
an angry 
Was it a line about love? 
And the angry was to describe a silly object running parallel?
I had suddenly thought of the Old Mill my dad took me for ice cream
The Old Mill's gone - but does this have a point with the line?
Nearly had sounded awkward in the middle of the sentence, 
so it was something something, nearly. 
Or overly?
Was it something with British students and their way
Angry boxes, angry plates or throngs of things I'm thinking of - 
that don't distract the speaker 
He had nearly hurt himself, or rather, hurt himself, nearly
Not by angry mobs 
He was happy, this was about love, and the throngs did not dissuade him. 
But it had lead to thoughts of beautiful arty girls with peacock earrings 
Did it then start from the hospital?
The angry pavement did not dissuade him, nearly. Overly? No. 
Was it an explanation to a professor?
The angry something was a metaphor, that much is clear. 
The nearly or overly doesn't matter because it wouldn't fit properly 
What was in the middle then?
That Mill keeps popping up
Coming across a page and highlight a line. Then slowly fill the margins and spaces 
with yellow. Staring now at your bright yellow page, 
you search for the word that first intrigued you. 
The more I stuff the scarves into my head, the more the other words, 
left at the battelines, fade away



Please Acknowledge

To arrange the unspoken events and render them artistic

Oh, thank God we could get this scheduled before your first day of classes.
We won't let you be there alone, you've been alone for two days.
I should have come home.

To arrange the forgotten events, so eager to move on, and make them meaningful

Well, you should have called it a procedure, call it anything but that.
Crying in a second-stage waiting room, IV inserted
This will take the edge off, make you more brave.

To assemble the heaps of pieces, which, as a whole, are too much to bear

Pity and quiet family visits, awkward bringing the nephews over
Let's play cards



Your snores
A soft motor
that tells me you're resting
that tells me it's safe



Display tables brushed by
Those who speak, speak too loud
about nothing
A glistening crow bathes in spring ice water



Waiting Room

It's a pain that rips you in half
down the middle
That makes your ankles bend
That makes your legs shake
Your thighs twitch
I don't know what I would do without you



Canada, Part XI

It is in the desolation
Swamp trees sucked dry
The ice ghost birch in rapid glimmer
White pines' upper most branches grasp the snow gray skies
Scan the cracked bones for signs of life
for herons




I'm too tired
to take for granted
The way we get our food
The transport trucks and drive thru
The old men with long hair at bus stops
in florescent windbreakers
The way we sleep together every night
Group work and niceties
Grocery shopping and interac and another cashier
Does it startle you?




Girls with LOVE somewhere in their profile pictures
     drawn in the sand
Guys and pictures of snowmobiles
Pictures of drunk
and drunk
and leopard print bras and drunk
snowboarding and resort trips
smiling in every picture
Boyfriend and Girlfriend
basic and framed
Her interests are Live, Love, Laugh
His interests are Interested in Women
and home address
This new breed of norm
Terrifyingly simple
He talks too much, she cries too little



Gold sunset on violet clouds
buildings silver
and sliver
a laughing skyline
Cranes suspend the 
glowing dashboards
and falling dominoes of break lights down Bloor

Rejoicing as pedestrian 
and piteously smiling at the angry
clogged streets 
of a patchwork city
A succulent chaos of Gothic and
Modernist and
the sleek, robotic Eaton Centre 
Finally feeling as though there is a place
as confused as I am 


The Routine

Scratch your bites until they scab

Keep calling back again and again



Post -

I look to the past and sense order
To the past that was your present barren chaos
and eat nuts upon a burning burning Waste Land
on a bar stool in Sacramento
and watch a game of spectators
eating nuts upon some bleachers
My forgotten abortions don't dissuade me, Eliot,

I still live a life of frivolity
and no longer have ability
My allusions from game shows, reality tv
What with the Bible, Virgil, and Iliad all dead
we've found no need for mediator Tiresias
as the sex now has no mind
and we came to realize all men were women, the whole time

With advanced funds from the society you so condemned,
Haliburton did some scouring
and turned your Waste Land into a Theme Park



Separate, Complete

You’re the only thing outside of me
Everything else blends into my darkness

You are the outside

While the world feeds my solitude

You’re the only thing that stands beside me
and outside of me
Suddenly, I’m anchored

with that darkness, too





Weezer wrote that they were Tired of Sex
I’m tired of sex as a fetish
Standing in for something else
a sick metaphor
for your discontent and anxieties
I’m tired of my body standing in for your loss,
Paint stretched across canvas
Pencil drawn across paper
An unintended form
embodies your sorrow

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