The mind, a dormant stone

my brain is completely flooded i've rode this train before to a journey laden in cumbersome foot-stomps catching my frolic to the ground, tumbling over some man's arms, thick-legged brawn there is a part of me that says, 'you're too old for this'... maybe to know better is to be declarative and surrender to the certainties in life. however certain and present, the tornado will  follow. it's better to live submissive instead of dismissive to the velocity of life held out in front of you... like the last banana in the fruit bowl, or that chocolate cake you just want to lick. bowl to casket. each motion a delight.

Confessions of a creeper He lasts until you're gone, still component to the atmosphere; tricky. Grime enough on the mouth to get close, but doesn't touch. Your heart doesn't reach enough on the inside. "I'm sorry, what you said above is true. But was Narcissus not soft, yet enough, to admire. Beauty? Short sighted, I Not." exhaled ------ < Done. Finito. Bye. ~ Jessica M. Wilson

Of Some Man A criminal – someone. Making crime committed against social expectation. Crime of action: necessity, deliberate… when a hand reaches to take bread, pick fruit, stretch farther than comfortable, there is silence that recognizes action of hands, mind made to reach harder decisions. Imbalance to society… But when a hand lashes down to punish a criminal, there is no tolerance, or redemption to be found. Enforcers carry gloves, so their hands will not bloody, so they won’t spoil their appetite to dine with their families, shake the fragile palm of a plump baby girl, weigh down into another person’s face – watching the water drip from their eyes; tolerance removed. Tyler calls them “The Keepers”, earning a living to watch and mitigate the torment of bastardized sons and daughters of the “system”. There is nothing left to assure ourselves – atrocities of the night – So glad police took them away – purged the streets, but how fa...

I am so excited to present this song to the world! Cantüs' message is beautiful and I hope the world answers the call!

Here is a clip of my reading at Writer Wednesdays at Bob's Espresso Bar in North Hollywood! Presenting a collaborative, untitled poem, written with Juan Cardenas, and "Oh my!"! A powerful  message from Poet, Norman Molesko ! View the entire show:  http://www.ustream.tv/recorded/34621003

" Paul Dermée   (1886-1951) was a   Belgian   Writer, Poet, Literary Critique. Born Camille Janssen in   Liège , Belgium in 1886, he died Paris 1951.  He knew the painters Picasso, Juan Gris, Sonia and Robert Delaunay and the poets Valéry Larbaud and Max Jacob." (taken from Wikipedia)

G'Bye I take the train to flee my love. Sometimes I smile and run from one end of reality to the other. Sometimes I understand why I'm running, so I go to sit on a rock  and explore truths. Never escaping...  Never completely. I then realize how my heart is tugged to his -- and no matter how often I try to release I'll continue to be his second self. ~ jessica m. wilson jac

Saturday, June 15th at Beyond Baroque in Venice, CA -- many Los Angeles Poets gathered to pay tribute to the legendary voice of Venice, Poet Scott Wannberg . In 2011, Wannberg passed away due to many medical issues...his legacy continues to sprout from the gardens, the walls, and the hearts inhabiting the literary arts mecca. Led by fellow Carma Bum , S.A. Griffin , the love for Scott Wannberg flew to the skies and beyond. I  am exceptionally proud to be a part of the tribute, as I personally didn't get to meet and come to know Scott. However, I do see the the seeds of his words, and how they have come to grow and grow out further into the world, touching more souls and spirits. I am proud to read the works of Scott Wannberg and hope I can only do his words the justice of being read as he intended. With great respect, here I am with a very accomplished Flutist, Juan Cardenas , together we perform Wannberg's poem, "The War". Jessica Wilson & Juan Cardena...

New York State of... Okay! Let's keep moving -- Mind is truly fertile in slumber; dreams of hipsters   wearing  grey dresses,  playing tambourine and flipping their  a-gendered hair. It's all in the attitude --  silhouette of unfriendly swagga,  never too keen to strangers. They whip their pencil, fold imaginary origami and watch them rain  to the ground. --  So dreary,  like Sunday,  when you're playing between guilt, or just feeling good. I choose my good all the time;  consistently un-present.  That's where I mellow -- until I'm probed long enough to speak: maybe I will. ~ Jessica M. Wilson

Metal Babe Shindig! With: Kelli, Dylan, Gayle, Scotty, Jessica, Juan, Dezzy, Alison, & Mike!