Poetry from Ferris Jones


(parked in a cemetery; raining)

i understood early. life is strange for anybody. i didn’t realize my nursery school companions didn’t comprehend. i watched the coffee table walk on its four limbs. i stared at its stability. not a single dip of my father’s beer had overflowed. while it roamed, its supremacy overcame me. Intelligence to each stride. he appreciated where he was going. i craved to be that way.

it’s conscious. everything. nothing ever dies. it becomes foodstuff for the universe. dinner is prompt. we should embrace. treat well. my world, heavier than most. what did i know? i was five years old. what was real? mommy carried me, settled me. the world turned. i could perceive now. it was as absolute as that.

sweet boy

don’t weep. we won’t surrender you on this dilapidated dance floor. we will reconstruct it into a sky that will not squirm. its guardian will be of your crop. we will be the spirits that will yield blood for your tranquility. our minds will accept this pandemic and sections will disappear. nobody will realize how great they should have remained. a parachute will break your loss. go on, little one, conceive those daydreams. the earth cluttered with our remains will attend over you. no mischief will appear to you.

we will draw up arms and overthrow the pagan vampire that is autocracy. its assault will be but fables, flying before the years develop. the hijacker will expire in shackles, millions will lament, rifles will blow, capitals will ignite. airborne joy will torrent the invasion.

i will stand my history in your palms, be delicate with the mass, golden stars will be on your screens. read the message, behold the ground, envelop the tombstones. the karats are the weight, controlled by the painting of your forthcoming. i will stare on to you and your triumph, sweet boy. we will not let you, nor will we dig the tunnels.

past lives

my judgement opens from space. islands inhabit this elegant territory. true, as if planted by god’s palm. it’s rests nowhere else. lives and eye’s, roamed here for centuries. expired here. bones are in divine locations, not discovered. rafts of bamboo carried these waters. sculptures of the heroic warrior’s in the star’s highway at night. they understood time.

i’ve been there. reached from the sky and set on the water. an elegant craft. wealth. but when? i recognize i fell through the crystal water. taken part with the roads of the sand. the moon generates arrangements sustained beyond many deaths. was I one of them?