Hey, I hope you had a happy St. Patty's day. I did (see: uncertainty in previous post [see also: Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle, because that shit's just wicked cool]).
The hellish finals week has got me all fucked up with sleep, and I'm back to indulging in my nocturnal proclivity. I hope to amend this soon, but without further ado, Amen.
gentleMen, Ladies, indefinitely Confused, I give you my 'POETre reADING reVIEW' (an assigned attendance and write-up of a local reading in which poetry was read [that really turned out to be a "scathing... review" of the worn-through postmodernist literary conventions {intentionally plural, intended as a pun}]) and my 'Æsthetic Statement?' (an assignmeant to reflect and elaborate up/on the "questions, processes, and impulses that underlie the principles or directions of your writing". [which because by the time I began to write it, I'd already written ≈ 9-10 pages of text for about 8-10 hours, it did not as I would wish very consciously, cautiously do this, but together with the accompanying document, may have very well done a satisfactory job of]), both of which were assignments for my now over Poetry class.
Enjoy; fill in the blanks; fulfill your life and yourself

{the following is my first submission to a poetry journal. this happened like 20 minutes ago. it's for NW Poetry's 'Science' themed issue. we'll see what happens. Love you. I'm going to fucking sleep.}

Hello, You (editors)!

I'm Walker Jones, and unfortunately I am a little late. For this, I apologize.* However, I'm submitting my poems to you directly--for a number of reasons.
One of which (pardon me, I posit rather obstinately) is that the causal circumstances of this casual submission are "silly, such arbitrary lines | that cut" some submitters from some submissed.

And these poems would be missed if they were missing from your issue, which I feel would be a loss of what would be a win-win for your magazine and me. "Why?" Well, I'm glad you asked that, because
these poems explore questions like
     ---'Why?' ("To what point does my lifeline continue? Does this plane of existence have value?")
     ---'Who?' (" i am "; "n0 name")
     ---'What ([is] "the best thing since sliced bread")?' {"a sandwich...", duh.}
     ---'Where?' and 'When?' (directly: "here/where | then/when")
--and 'How' they do this is of most significance to your forthcoming poetry issue:
in science-literate language.

I am no scientist (I don't even know if I passed my chemistry course), no mathematician nor philosopher, no writer nor poet--yet, "all | i am | is nothing 8u+" a person (albeit a young [19 year old] one). And as a person with an awareness, (that) I think in thought that I think is the "ought" to what is (and "it" isn't it), the experience taken out of and from the experience we are intrinsically a part of--i .e. abstractions, symbols, language. The only reasons I'm including such a prossibly {sic} confusing sentence are to

1. show that using analogous terms (/analogues), non-letter symbols, and fractured (or unconventional) arrangements is really just using the same iterative abstractions (from latin "strahere": 'to pull, draw' and "ab-": 'away, from') that are the foundation of plain written English, poetry, science, thought, and consciousness.
2. logically connect this connection: that

art is a subjective experience of science. [I'm afraid I'm getting too abstract, so I'll spare you this justification; though, if you'd like me to I'll gladly share--but for now, just trust me on that.] Art is a subconscious bridge between consciousness and existence. It pulls us back to an Experience, drawing us away from the very abstractions it--and we--employ(s) just 'to be', to exist; and what's more, once again,
connects the factored experiencer to the fluid experience. This is why I write poetry (the way that/about what I do).

I don't mean to be so abstract and impersonal, but I guess that's what it took for me to really spell out the personal significance of these words, pieces of me, of mine that I've pieced together and am sending to you--and why committing them to you, in particular to this (pardon the pun) issue, is so much (not in, but) our mutual interest.
At the least, I hope you find some interesting connections in these pieces.
Thank you for your time, considerable attention span and attentive consideration.

Looking forwords to you's n' him's works,
Walker Jones

*[But, it is not by much. I was on the submission page, and then took the time (which, as you will see, it does take time) to put my poems all into one document, and by the time I'd clicked the button to submit the document, there was a "processing error" that redirected me back to a submissions page that was no longer accepting submissions. Frustrating, as you can imagine. Instead of getting frustrated,]

P.S. I started began this submission at around 11pm, but after abridging the texts into one document, writing this whole darn thing, and in the middle stopping to journal some digressive thoughts that occurred (to make some pretty relevant, comprehensive connections), it's now nearly 4am. Why I include this is because I really did start to submit this when you were still accepting submissions, and that slight (tardiness, its consequence, and the incredulity and stubbornness [I'm a Taurus]) is really the whole why I busted this out right now (and submitting it against the "rules" or whatever they would be referred to in this case) whilst I am already unbelievably sleep deprived. I'm just gonna stop now. Thank you. Goodnight.

Howdy, y'all! Feliz dia de los remembering the Alamo.
As noted in the post previous, I have been writing more. And my laptop was in the Philippines I believe getting repaired. But now it is back, on my lap, going to work and getting filled with my heady ejaculations--of words, you pervert.
The new wordks you can find, per the uje (/as usual), on the following tab: Walker Jones' Other Works. I don't have everything quite done yet, but I have all I'm going to do tonight and will finish the rest as they come. I just can't help myself with the innuendo...
which tells me I should take a break. Stop. Drop. Roll. Fire. Smoke. Flash. Dance. Voila: a diddy:
[the following was a post on the Seattle newspaper's online personal forum
listen: it was free and sometimes I get lonely, don't we all. so I had fun with it, since I'm so much younger than everyone else, and composed, well, you can read
{N.B. i do believe there will be more of these musicalike things to come.}]

Hey there good evening how ya doing ladies?
I guess you might be on here looking to make some babies
Or just some love, or maybe just to find some
One that's true and not "too good to be"come
"Ya boi"—toy/or/friend—no, wait: what you really want's a man
To make you feel full inside like only he can
And so you scan through strangers online impers
Onals and dime a dozens, your lovelife change is worse
Than it was before you even logged on
And flipped through "ad"s like in a fashion catalogue
On every page, a different mannequin to see
But now you've turned up every last stone and come to me
My stone is rolling, gathering steam up and no moss
I got you scrolling, reading this right? at a loss
Of what to make of
This must be fake, well
Miss you're wide awake, I'll
Pinch you for the sake of proving
I'm real, not complex or even imaginary
I'm oddly radical, makin more waves than a ferry
Or Rick Perry, though I'm sweet as acai berry
In a smoothie, smoother than a Ben & Jerry
Rich as dairy, or extra virgin olive oil
Hot as water heatin up to a rolling boil
And gettin hotta, 'nough to make you recoil
But I play it cool, don't want any turmoil
Just some fun with someone—hey just like you
So listen closely as I tell you what to do:
Just click the button on the left hand side of the screen
And leave a message, don't you worry there's no beep
We can get to talkin, maybe over some coffee beans
About your dog or your life's hopes & dreams
They could come true you
May never know though
Unless you try to
Give a new guy a go
Yo!

Hey people, I hope you're doing beautifully. I have been--
writing quite a bit more than I really ever have before,
for the past couple months, esp. the last couple weeks.
However, in the wake of this creative outburst, I've been sleeping on the polishing that goes into what comes out--a bit too much basking in the sunlight, if you will (I did). Also my computer and internet availability have been trying (and failing).
But, without further ado, I bring to you three new works on the 'Other Works' tab,
and this post--written at a Seattle Public Library computer as time is quickly expiring, but the poetic meat of which was written by candlelight on my back porch in San Antonio the early morning of New Years Evening (yes it has been a while indeed):

~I called; you stalled,
                                       then told me to come over--
for not too long—I played some songs by a band you didn't know,
and you with cards and some glass shards to shine a shadow show.
You made some tea for us and me as we filled your room with smoke
but I spilled mine. You couldn't divine the meaning of the tarot.
The sound was warped; the light, distort from finicky flames still burning
your incense. Insentience almost overshadowed my yearning
to hold you just in short, -in lust, -or maybe as I once did
when we were young. The feeling stung, but I('m) no longer (a) kid
myself—I'm grown; you I can't own,
                                                                  nor could you be my lover.~
Each time I see you with me it makes me wonder why
when you I leave I have to grieve so much I want to cry.
Maybe I miss whom I first kissed, that passionate primal affection;
but I know now that simply thou art that—emotive ‘n tangible defection.
And so I must stake hope and trust in that which really is,
thus extinguish fie’ry anguish that you won't be my mrs.