ZERO JONES AWAKENS IN THE STILL EARLY MORNING
Zero Jones, head foggy could still recount last night’s events, a trip into the unknown he chose
to forget about conversations with god in the mirror. Found a couple ducks in the ashtray after
years in and out of prison, lived in the last cash camp in the state for a brief time, he knew it
would be better to break apart and re-roll with Bible paper which was the only thing thin enough
on hand to do the job.
waking up outside
A handheld mirror held the face of the supreme deity, a sparse statement as he was concerned
waking up hungry. Puts his boots on, thought about clinical depression anxiety, pills and no one
knows why the brain tricks us into mediating our own capacity and consideration of
Remembering past hallucinations, dressed and ready for a positive experience, lost long-lasting
realness if only anyone knows what that means. Remembers reading an article about a
Canadian scientist who invented a god helmet or the Koren Helmet after it’s inventor Stanley.
Zero laughed to himself “a lot of influential intellectuals named Stanley, bet his ideas are banned
in many states.”
“Where’s the chipped beef and eggs?”
Downs a shot of whiskey followed by a red-eye without wincing, years of practice to develop this
maneuver akin to a poker face except this “face” looks within towards a kind of inner strength
that few have to begin a day this way. Once again thinking about chipped beef and eggs, butter
and toast, coffee and hot sauce, hotter the better. A mantra that follows, whistling into the wind
sometimes singing especially if anyone is paying attention. Left in their debt jumping up to touch
the sky and directly upon impact touching toes, so above so below is an outlaw’s mantra loose
interpretation interpersonal as this new day begins.
Stuck hands in pockets after inventorization of dreams a pigeonhole stuck on visions of
pedagogy 40 days wonder 40 years in the desert, found a hole there where change should be.
Found a dragon lurking in the distance and a princess to be found and freed but always waking
up alone in a wilderness juxtaposed to reality. Acutely aware of every shadow.
washing one’s face is close to anointment
Waking up alone is a guaranteed way to be civil with a society always at odds. Zero walks down
to see his mother, the river, wash and watch his face clean grow long. On knees feels
vulnerable yet knows of power in hunched haunches and the overlap of biology and void left
untamed in symbology, could make this mystery one piece at a time out of manna. Breaks down
his camp for the weekend, he has a home and wonders sometimes how many people think in
images or words or both, and in what resolution?
©2020 Kevin Martin All rights reserved.
The Wolfman Kevin Martin is an artist now residing in the land of his birth High Point, North Carolina. The Wolf has images and words published through Cajun Mutt Press, The Pangolin Review, Alien Buddha Press, and Rust Belt Press. My Head Fits Through Your Noose: Let Me Swing Awhile is Wolf’s first full-length poetry collection released early 2019 through Alien Buddha Press. His second book American Darling is set to be released later in 2020 through Rogue Wolf Press.