cynical oversites

The cynics of this world have come to find the idea of hell ideally within their own comfort zone,

It's all been done, evil is so intangible and hard to tell from the good, what's in front of your nose seems like a good idea,

Mysteries are not so mysterious everyon has their storied resume, polished to read like some telenovella.

in their cynical oversites they forget that hell isn't other people, but the idea that their fraud will be revealed for all to see.

They lay in wait to snatch the last word, declare themselves impuned and wait for the lawsuit money...

In perspective, what's left, isn't right and can always be arguable wrong.

It's hard to see past your temple if you don't turn around or whiplash yourself around in time to see the train coming down the track.

Cynics make money hand over fist, the same fist that knocked out that high watt smile and left you common.

The phony morality stalks you cynics like Mormons cavassing your neighborhoods. Trying to save you from your cynical oversites.

~jasongentryjones© 2009

vanity got the best of me

And my vanity got the best of me, I fell off a horse...

It bucked me hard right off my chosen course.

I went all Warhol and bought a wig, became sheepish and fey.

carried grudges and chips on my shoulder they say!

my vanity got the best of me and my swan song sank a ship or two

sank them right to the bottom where they could sleep with you.

Ah that watery grave so mute, swish and swirl, but if for my vanity...

I might have been your girl.

~jasongentryjones© 2009

garden of heads

In a garden of heads on the memory carousel, roundabout and laughter,

that echo of meliforous chuckle, made me double over and buckle...

So many times I strode past the door and never thought to look in,

it was just then, just then when...

I knew I was part of the general stampede, running mad, alive, alive...

When the boards are bowed to the players, Harriet Fulton, you temptress.

I skipped my high school classes to haunt you and hunt boys, boys and some men.

Yes, you had me and I loved you for the friends you gave haven.

for the raison d'etre you inspired in somewhat listless, lost types and gave escape to those others,

Those sisters and brothers, even those distant others, friends, enemies, bastards and lovers.

who strode the halls, loitered in stalls and just had the balls to dream , step outside and pull us through the fourth wall.

Even in the garden of heads the clocks run fast and we all turn to pumpkins, bippity boppity boo.

The memory carousel and emotion sickness are just sign that you can still be a man or woman of flesh and blood. See ball, be the ball.

And a goodnight to all!

~jasongentryjones© 2009

sunday evening treason

Sunday evening your treason comes home to rest, your own private hell.

Stirring the pot, it ain't what you got but what you are not!

Yes, this private hell where heat is transferred by lies and gossip's spell.

Sunday evening treason charms it's way in, If it were your only sin.

~jasongentryjones© 2009

tears in your peripheral

Not so long ago, but in my own antiquity there was one love...

He was relieved of the modernisms of this story as he wasn't upgraded

at his behest...

"I'll stay behind and you can see me when you look back over your shoulder."

(tears in your peripheral.)

How lucky for him and how lonely for me, but there was one love. at his behest.

I gave him his dignity and only look back to see him golden and sun-dipped...

the political is his cue to laugh and I quit talking flat of the realization.

How I envy the libidinous curve to which you graded your experience.

Alas in my peripheral tears as I strode the wake.

There is he in his chosen time while I am vulgarly alive here to recount the tales.

~jasongentryjones© 2009

Charlotte Vale

I was Charlotte Vale and I still dream of pushing my victorian mother over the edge,

Good intentions aside. I, Charlotte, of sound mind and body, cast off my daughterly duties.

I want to breathe and if you, Mother, can't see your daughter here, then you have never seen me at all.

I am Charlotte Vale, life breathed into me by Bette Davis. Oh, Mother!

How could I care what other's thought of it all? How could I? I was alive and swimming in it!

Dare I say, out there on a limb? with you, Mother, snapping that limb, on a whim!

Take your leave of us, if you must. I am not afraid. For the first time in my life.

Charlotte Vale...

~jasongentryjones© 2009

the height of depths

"Wow, Man! That's really deep!'
This could be spat at any human occurrence and more than likely it was at a loss for words.

pain, drama or just plain old bad luck, don't need no luck at all!
"Man! That's really deep!"

As he fell into the well of his own irony, shallow fall, broken by empty words.
"Man, That's really deep!"

Ah yes the height of depths!
It could be something they never even thought or just a willingness to admire another's adversity.

"Ah yes, That' really deep!"

~jasongentryjones© 2009

discussing chattel

Children listen to the voices discussing them as if they are chattel.

Tightly dressed, uncomforatble, polyester, Funerals and Funerals...

at seven I was an old hand at the routine, the ritual, the scene,

being Southern you get it in bucket loads, especially if you have a Granny!

Sunday school lessons, funeral parlor pranks, admiring the gothic furniture.

I'd jump to my feet to get ready to go, with my little buckle shoes and my bowtie, "twinkle toed"

Granny supplied me with endless funerals to gawk and gasp.

For at a funeral there is nothing more out of place than a little child, beaming,

Screaming "I love the furniture here!"

Discussing chattel again "If nobody ain't that boy's gonna be queer!"

~jasongentryjones© 2009

Truth

You shouldn't ask me question that when answered tear your flesh off the bone...

Really, Why didn't I warn you that your inquisitive nature could be detrimental to your vanities?

Still you writhe maimed and fluid with "why" and "how", it's because I am alive!

You sit stunted by your loyalties and your petty ideals, stagnating more while you bore me...

I quit a long time ago, but I started anew.

When honesty burned of the facades and released the truth.

~jasongentryjones© 2009

Bass

His large feet stomped the floor as he plucked the bass,

His cock vibrated merrily,

As if he were making love to the moment.

I saw the sweat drip, hair flip and the bitten lip.

There he was in all dirty white boy glory uncaring,

Spent and pleasure bent.

Throws his head back, nostrils flaring.

~jasongentryjones© 2009

the man and the void

He has a therapist for his children's queries when money doesn't flow so well.

the amicable divorces and the clotheshorses don't come so cheap and life is not as he thought it to be.

Once he stayed took a weekend by himself and tried to enjoy it.

He could not. No such luck. Even well paid affections left him void...

It's always the man and the bottle or the man and the sea

What about the man and the void?

His emotions stifled by good intentions and his intentions stifled by emotions??

Still the amicable divorces, clotheshorses and litigious dark forces make for the modern paradigm.

Don't burn bridges just placate them until you know what you really meant.

How the slight stings the longer the time you spent.

~jasongentryjones© 2009

Naldito

Sometimes naldito's voice comes to me when I am at my most hangdogged,

He tells me to enjoy it, savor it, breathe deep the grass while you are facedown in it.

Other times he makes me think that everything is a sad charade, commerce has ruined art,

The poetesses of deep pockets savoring their moniker, using verse to seduce sheep.

Expunging the vile repudiation of past contracts and shadowy lovers, faceless.

Oh Naldito say it ain't so. Why is so much wasted on the idiocy of spoonfeeding the masses.

Wars of words and and muchado over far too little and then back again.

Sometimes Naldito scolds me for being agreeable but that is why he is Naldito.

~jasongentryjones© 2009

your dreams forgive you

the insecurities you call upon don't always back you up,
your dreams forgive you for all those trespasses and your many lovers.

There wasn't much color and the future looked good for falling
falling falling.... Whap! Slam back into your flesh container.

In my view I saw a great sky opening up and the lights were ascending
I have forgiven my dreams for those flights of fantasy, love another day.

Yet you don't see it. Just out of reach. like my love was detachable
your dreams forgive you, but the past forgets you, taking you away.

~jasongentryjones© 2009

indifference

Just a child born to something not so easy to understand.

Indifference acts like walls closing in and the night comes lonely.

I reach out to strangers with my heart open. Take me away.

A boy child as such should never be left to his own devices.

The night comes lonely and a child has to dream to survive,

survive another day not so easy to understand

You can take me away.

~jasongentryjones© 2009

ceasing to exist

When I was a kid I knew a man that was so far lost inside himself that he forgot his life. In his youth he was rather normal, whatever that is, and was loved by his family and friends like most young men. He dreamed of being a husband, father and the whole shot. One day he woke up and no one made sense anylonger. Not his wife, his children or any of his family and he left them as to not hurt them anymore. He began walking and soon came to a boarding house where he took a room and began to think about his missing life. It wasn't the LSD he took, or was it? He didn't know LSD from a pencil sharpener and with his newly expunged memory he didn't even know his real age or anything to do with any phenomena linked to his generation. One night he picked up a male prostitute and took him to his room. He asked him what it was that he did as a prostitute. The hooker basically said that he helped people get off and have a good time, at times he had just sat and talked and listened but he was paid for that service as well. The man in his newly found ignorance didn't even ponder what deeds the male prostitute might provide, but the emotional implications of that might be far too much than he wanted to explore right now. Later he met with his wife who was already filing divorce papers and selling the home they had shared for 13 years. She told him that if their relationship was worth salvaging that she would stick around and wait, but why revel in the past when her own husband doesn't remember her or their children or any part of their life. The man unemotionally withdrew from the conversation and complied with her wishes as he felt that the strange woman, his wife, might have other things to talk about with people that remembered her besides this man that didn't even know her name without her having to tell him. He did ask her if she remembered their children being born and of course she did. It only frustrated her more. The man walked home and then got ready for his job at the factory. He made rubber gaskets. A job that didn't require anything other than pulling hoses and gaskets with a machine testing for elasticity. It was a boring job, but when you don't remember anything it's easy to start anew with a job that even a trained chimp could do. He thought about the male prostitute and how he smelled of exotic smoke and his wife's glare at him and the noises of the machines and he realized that he was ceasing to exist and that soon there would be a machine to run the machine that he was using to pull the rubber parts. I don't know if he just woke up one day and decided that he was useless and slowly he began to disappear, but it was all in his own mind and even though his family remembered him he didn't remember any of them and it didn't seem to bother him as it should have. Peculiar.

~jasongentryjones© 2009