prison of the mind

the prison in our mind   it's that that draws us 'round from cemetery to cemetery    from tomb to tomb where our stinking pasts are laid

we long to douse the smoke clouds hovering above the smoldering of our deeds     the garbage pit that yawns as we watch     here we stood attempting to burn the rubbish that taints us     the refuse of sins thought long discarded in the dump we called "home"

we're like fools in dunce caps facing the wall of rejection     twiddling our thumbs waiting for some trapdoor to spring     hurling our vision into bas-relief on the wall of lost grace

like dour virgins posing for a date     we sit staring into cameras that hold our image without a soul     seated and staring into the coated glass     hoping our Mate will ring and lead us to Spring  

but will we remain stuck on the hinges of old queries     trapped in the questions that philosophy can't resolve      as we travel the road hungering for Light 

*Reflections  of Alan Jones:

-In the face of the rise of a virulent, ultraconservative form of believing that is all answers and absolutely no questions, it is very hard to "climb the cross of the moment and see our illusions die."

-...a human being is unfinished business.

-The intractable "isness" of things can be either a source of delight or the occasion of despair.

House of Rest

a caterpillar ripples

along a leaf

into flight

a sunflower

bends

into seed

a river

empties

into

itself

                                                -Jerry Schroeder, Cap.