How should I feel today
the sun shining on my head which is clouded like rain?
the old fear kicking in—
the old needs creeping in—
the old indecision—
and feelings of inadequacy?
Then should I remind you?
I know you have felt this way—
hungover on a morning—
after a night—
with no drink
Well maybe I’ll strip this desk, take out the trimmings—
the gold—the steel—the aluminum—
and buy myself a bottle of red
and write my next poem on the blacktop
with a piece of broken sheet-rock.
With as many interest as a rose has thorns, D.S. Jones spends most of his time between parking lots and the painting section at the local hobby store.