alcohol

you believe in me
even when i don't believe
in myself

and unlike my true love
there is no judgment
in your caress

come down on me at once
old muse, your kiss
a hypnotic afterlife

cinders burning
the edges of an undug
grave

i watched her body...

how delicate the night runs along
the windowsill and I want to take her
in my arms, as I've done so many nights
before, but the morning has never
judged me as it does now. Am I ready?
to leave, to really walk away, could
ever be, never, no, not that, her scent
follows me wherever i go, other women
smell like her passing by me on the way
to work. Is this what I have to look
forward to? No other could fill her shoes/
I sit silent/cement in my throat
she's not angry, this makes it harder
to walk away and when i do i walk through
the door and back into her arms - no exit,
some movie where dreams and reality
mold into one, nothing in my life is
as real as she, yet i am not ready
either way i'm unfit/ love so deep
i find it hard to breathe

one day it'll all make sense

...under a canopy of parliament light exhalations
windows open, eyes closed, fingers parted our love
collapses in on itself, the box we're trapped in and can't
get out of, little room for reason, and logic sits outside
the window, he missed the party...you, rose, i steal another
petal from your stem we are not yet so antiquated are we
no not at all and i'm begging my mind to put the pieces together
to fit all the happiness it can into the puzzle of my dreams
as the madness exits out the back door, leaving room for
us, the dreams we have, together. so i step back and watch you
resting your eyes on the night in amazement that after all
this time, even silence can lead me back to you, but there's so
much noise around...

work in progress.

no room for indecision

i slept on a bed of thorns and watched my rose in bloom, struck by moonlight tears escaped its center and i bled old wounds all night...

in the morning i felt no deliverance from the now recurring nightmare that is my life...

i wanted her to know

that love is forever

where i stand


am i leaving for me or for her?


how selfish of me to shun love



here i go again embracing all the jazz and blues of rain.


i've been here before...again.

back to black.

We made love twice last night, listened to Robin Thicke, Doves, Dido, and various artists. lit candles, drank vodka, smoked cigarettes...I caressed her locks, took deep breaths as I swam in her gaze, speechlessly, evoking "what's up" from her lips. There was a calm in her presence I hadn't felt in a while. I sometimes feel I've grown too accustomed to waking up next to her in the morning, her forehead kisses, the constant affirmation of "I love you". I can't remember when she hasn't told me that. I'm spoiled, yet torn.

A few nights ago she said "I'm getting the marriage itch"..."just putting it out there". We're on different timelines. I'm not ready for co-habitation even though we live together and now she's mentioning marriage as if it were on the horizon? should I be ready? I'm staring over the edge. Being single is fun for about this long *holds up thumb and pointer finger* I didn't say anything. I stared speechless. 25 is a benchmark for her. Like it's all downhill.

I haven't thought about it much actually. -me

Well, I'm just putting it out there. -her

Ok. -me

end of conversation

I'm an indecisive dreamer. A hopeful (after years of hopeless dread) romantic, an idealist, a loner and a lover. I'm selfless yet stubborn, faithful? I don't know what lies around the next bend , I just know I'm ok with not knowing. I'm not ready to plan out the next ten years of my life. I don't want any more boundaries on what I can do, who I can see, how long I can stay. I don't want this to be the end of the road for us but I don't want to drive by any more exits wondering where those roads may lead, taking my hands off the wheel and endangering the life of my only passenger.

A decision must be made...soon.

norah jones.

imagine light
and slow breathing
open palms
and plenty rain

soft wind
and blossoms
sudden life
a moment
spilling over
into the next

one voice
even in darkness
a warmth
forgiving,
familiar,
a flame that
can be held

brian jones 2004-2006

i was(am) staring at the shadows, waiting for the sun.

smoke and mirrors.

I am staring at 15 beers lined up, held upright by dying wood in a happy hour trance of smoke, earfulls of women's laughter, click-clacking of plates beyond the drum's circumference (sounds that graze the ear peripherally). This is not where I belong. I belong at home, fingers in between the first and last page of newly discovered book...or holding a pen or caressing a vowel key, then comma, then . a poem. something created, not destroyed, again, another night, wasting away my bank account, lungs, ears, eyes, and creative psyche amongst many strangers and few familiar faces. in '07, i must do better.

"gravity rides everything"

i realize that no matter how many high lifes or yuenglings i drink tonight, morning will come, relentless, unforgiving tomorrow and i will wake up after the alarm and i will shower and curse the sun and wipe sleep from my eye and brush my teeth and shave and stagger in a half-daze to the metro where i will observe eyes and somewhat yearn for a new connection, a random conversation with a stranger about life, how it's going, what could be different, how suprisingly similar our qualms and joys truly are. this never happens, just a passing thought and after 15 minutes of sliding doors, loud conversations about nothing, a distortion of my ipod and voices and bodies and smells and stares, i will arrive at dupont circle. tomorrow is a "stand" on the elevator day...yesterday was a "walk" day. i will walk 19th street defeated because the day will be just as the day before. i will think of office space, but think better of it as i sit at my desk and my boss asks me about my upcoming vacation and smile and discuss her trip and give me pointers on work for the next couple of days. it will take about 30 minutes for me to begin to work after a gmail check, a facebook check, a brief espn check, a wikipedia check, a craigslist apartment ad check. i will smoke 1 or 2 cigarettes at lunchtime, eat some greasy fatty food because i'll forget to pack something at home. i will doze after lunch, work hard for the last two hours and leave the office at 5. but all this matters not. i just felt like sharing. sharing is caring.

tuesday, 10/10

you were a long pull from my last cigarette

you felt so good, i thought i had died

living beyond my means...

father knows best. he always says, "even when you have money, act like you're broke" and he's right, b/c then you'll have money when you really need it.

i need it now...i don't have it.

something is wrong with this picture. the picture, encased in broken glass.

i've been thinking maybe if i get another job, then i would be good, but really it's a matter of habits. no matter how much money i make, i can be in the same boat because i'll spend more, if the present mentality continues to manifest itself, which it would, but it can't because i want to change my habits.

i will. it begins with auditing myself down the every cup of coffee bought. every penny must be taken into account. i grow weary of this attempt at explaining how i'll become more responsible with my money. i'm beginning to get hungry. good thing i brought my lunch today. pot pie. yum-me

---
loid, "what the fuck is up!" (c) dave chappelle

jai, this is as good as i could do today. depressing, yes.
i hope this doesn't take away from your shine.

autumn

the city wears a frown
that often brings rain
the sewers are unable to hold

a subway door catching
the index finger of my
hand trying to catch up
with my body (we're all late)--
this is where my mind lives,

with the change lost in between
the slivers of the couch
as the years pass and my skin
dulls under the collective
asshole of the world

today it finally feels like fall,
and although the leaves
have not yet begun to sing
colors against the autumn wind,
i found a tree by the basin,
which i will climb,
clasp my hands together and
attempt to hold on to what's
left of summer

how deeply rooted my
walk is planted in the
hope of making it to tomorrow
so deep, i often find
it hard to remember to tie
my shoes

i find it harder to forget
the things i missed today

and even harder to let go
of yesterday

which leaves me with nothing,
now being too short to hold
on to with both hands

so i trip over my own feet
that eternal slip into
then

or again

now and then
i watch the sun
and grow jealous
of it's view
of me

i can never get away

i write this in the lonliest of breaths
and grow weary of explaining
this need to be
to no one

i guess sometimes
i grow tired of mirrors

i grow weary of even me
and the overcast that is the first day
of another season come
one day too soon

let it be quoted...

Floyd Landis is on that good

Maurice Clarett is on that good.

Lonnie Baxter has no excuse, he is on that good as well.

I wanted to be on that good the other night, but considering I have a job, it's best to limit such activity to the weekend.

Alana's birthday is tomorrow. I have no gift. I have no money.
What to do?

*looks down, moans*

i was hoping if i came here i'd have something to say.

i'm here now.

i don't.

somehow, i don't find myself at all interesting this summer.
consciousness has been routine.

tuesday mulling.

there is dust today
gathers under the fingernails
with the dead skin
i've been scratching
off my forearm all day

i stumble upon
a poem by kevin young
and all at once
i am inspired
like i was watching
the beggar
with deformed feet
beg for help
with a sign written on notebook paper
in blue ink too hard to read
in the sunlight

i stand there and cry
but i do not help him
it isn't money he needs
i do not have what he needs

i should not use apostrophe
when trying to capture emotion
on a jagged line

the monotony is suffocating
it is what i asked for
it is?

i want to leave dc
i want to leave.
now.

my weekend...

in three sentences:

i drank friday, saturday and sunday night.

i spent 250$ on groceries at cosco w/ alana.

i played basketball (for the first time in about a year) sunday morning/afternoon, in cloudless 90+ degree weather up at american w/ some fellow okplayers and every muscle in my body aches today.

this weekend..

i plan to have as much fun for as little money as possible.

funeral. (for monday)

it is ok to die today
because last night
we made love

the road that has no fork

the idea of possibility is a tomb for he who is directionless

this is where i walk, no retreat, no rest stop, only sun-soaked pavement

a wall-less corridor, a prison with no bars


i'm not sure what blinds me more, looking into the sun (there are no clouds)

or staring into the glaring blackness melting my soles

this road is not one full of choices

the choice was made before entering

i travel this road alone

no exits, no mile markers

time does not exist

the sun has not moved in years

slowly,

my brain's screws will loosen

and my head will splatter against the curve

of yellow that protects this road

from reality




i can't make up my mind

here: hold out hands

you take it

what's new

i went permanent on my job as of June 5th.
i will getting paid monthly which means until the day after the 4th of July, i am very much broke.
i look forward to the check. my job is chill.
i can look for a place now w/ the ms. alana
i haven't been writing a lot lately.
i have been reading the collected poems of James Merrill intermittently for about a month now. his imagery is beautiful.
the reason i'm posting this is because i feel guilty for not posting, not because i have something to say.

the sun is out. it is officially summer today.

wonderful