Strider Marcus Jones


We Move The Wheel

we move the wheel
that turns through each mistake,
giving motion
to the roles we chime
until both trickle out of time
like brittle steel
that rusts and breaks
into lapsed devotion.

less, or more,
you imagined it was sure
sharing the road
with you,
treading under dark, grey and blue
sky, wondering where it went going
to unfold
in fates wind blowing
fondling your full face
to some top­to­bottom place.

we have moved the wheel,
only to reveal
our high Metropolis
is still the same Acropolis
of extremes and obscenes
spreading gangrenous genes.

we have separated Dream from Time
and live in mirages
like Bacchus and Libera
duped in an era
condoning crime,
altering the images
of it’s illustrious self
stealing the wealth
of massed, divided synergies.

The Hermit

off rink

i think

and sit

like a hermit

but time

isn’t mine

to design.

the images erased

from memory in this cave

reverses the lathe

of shaped corruption

to avoid self destruction.

to an unseen, individual,

prime residual

unlit spark in the integral

strum of strings

that turns in revolutions rings,

the equal hands on the cosmic clock,

plays rhythms we know

but have forgot,

neither quick or slow,

but just so, with natures tow.

this solitary Eden,

paradise without our seed in

beneath the clouds of atmosphere,

alters with us here

overthrowing Older Orders without consent

in the deafening, silent firmament

and near

in conditioned fear.

I Want To Bend Time

I want more time
To ponder life,
For understanding
In the cosmic soup.

I want to bend time
To travel backwards and forwards,
To see what was and what will be
To fathom actions and consequences.

I want to unmould time
From how we shape it,
To be free of it
Unchained to think.

I want to teleport
To the past and now and on from here,
Faster than light
In the nothingness it takes to make a thought:

To find the answer-
To where we come from
To who we are
To why we are here
And where we are going

To be free from time.

I Look Through Pixel Stars

ensconced in your topiary vegetation,
with the u vowel
and tongue trowel
quickening sensation,
trickles down the eaves
morphia poches,
and smokes through notes
of cuddled conversation-

try to pin me down,
your king without a crown,
from cobbled streets
and communist meets
back then, in the day-
that come to this
contorted with decay.

if i know love at all,
it’s moat without a wall-
can come and conquer me,
then share soliloquy.
i look through pixel stars,
ignoring clubs and bars,
in seas above the ground-
waiting to be found

in books of chivalry-
embedded into me.
another doing day,
forms and fades away,
as the sky drapes close-
hope constricts, and i compose
these lines of fallow furrows-
my yesterdays, for tomorrows.

Omniscient Equation

when the past explains the present
and gives me layered notes
i like to play,
i only go so far
then walk away.

its not that i flow fickle
while the chords of love
play proud and quick my brain,
with syncopated rhythms
i resonate through succulent refrain.

not sleep do i
like scarecrow
left to watch his fallow field,
tethered and weathered, with hope bled eye
too scared to let the future be revealed.

patience pauses fate
omniscient equation
to be sure,

no withered webs of poison patternate
its window, to open and endure.

Quantum In Spacetime

sorrow sings
like medicine in me,
bewitching strings
of melancholy;
heavying fate
like a paperweight-
crushing cryptically.

emotions close
round your briar rose-
ham actors in a dream,
with parts to play
on this Broadway-
sit back, unfold the scene.

given what you know,
besame, besame mucho-
through quantums years in spacetime’s strings
we make each moments grain of sand-
evolve from past to present in our hand
to give this now new meanings.


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