Graveyard Shift

"time to dig, time to dig and bury my mistakes"

My face is heavy and hot with a radiation that only increases as I wipe with my hands
Smearing my brow that is plastic, like putty
I dig, I dig
I toss their bodies and relish my final violence, silence
I can go back to my hometown without worry
that they'll walk out of the bank as I walk in
I said I loved them once and tried to fix them
All that effort ties into this work like sweet syrup
manic and dripping
I never have to worry 
I killed them before they killed me


Rework Work

Words keep dying every day:
Fight fire with fire
It is what it is 
To be, or not to be
Work of art


Unpack the suitcase


Touch / Crumble


All past, all memories
All broken pieces
all fragments
Every moment before this is glinting sun through water
is a shadow under rock



Driving in the far right lane

You assume you're secure
let the others pass and explore
I've found my niche 
my nook

I'm not aching to get there

Some might say this right lane is monotonous
But you still could slip, skitter over the edge
there is still danger

From our cozy lane,
we might also take the next exit
to a town we only enjoy saying
and make the hypothetical real
Better yet,
we might turn the 4-Wheel on
and really touch those fields




Okay, it needs to be said
I'm a perpetual student
I can't help but deflate like a wimpy, empty balloon
when words on the evaluation are
"You need to"
Followed by a number slapped on your ideas, your presence, your voice
I can't help but question my existence 
my worthiness, my worthwhileness
when every idea of myself falls through a trapdoor
replaced by nothing
but a teary, shaking, dusty force that says
"You suck, you were wrong and every nice thought you had about yourself was ill-founded."
Though I know this was not their intention
I know they did their best to be objective and constructive 

But, there is a serious problem
when you are tied to something so
shifting, imaginary, arbitrary 
your whole body floats on a blinking platform that
collapses as much as it rises
I don't know what I need to do to change this
I wish I could trash this anxiety
and emerge without feeling like a silly, vulnerable child

Maybe I'll add to this poem when I have an answer
Maybe you could answer me in verse

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