jilljones

Web Hosting by Netfirms | Free Domain Names by Netfirms

Jill Jones

The quick light

Pink patterns evening, unbars the visionary
a moment thrust, light through cells

A quick fox glory eludes daily sermons
night is a shrewder deity, less rigid

A softer flame mounts clouds and buildings
horns reverb in the warm dark skull

Cricket song heightens a memory tune
flexing on an old radio

Moonlight drops to flash across grass
ground takes the brunt of silver

Here and there in the dented street
round lit balls and windows line uneasy

(mist emerges from straw)

Majesty jars the slack griefs in common limbs
unstrung by smudgy labours

Under a crimson horizon these scarfing galaxies
cluster, a nebulous anatomy

Incomplete dreams
do not explain

restless within each cavity

Long voice

I go low as grey light
distance tears me from my head.

Sky dances sun so slow now
tunnels steer me into cold.

I go now where words tear
tired song slapped against sound-catchers.

Resistance moves me into long voice
night blurs lines against gates.

I go now into home light
threaded, poured, ached, gone and open.

Song

You hear rain?
Of course, you do.
Sheets us cold.
Course you want
to surround me
skinning warmth
membrane, cloak and width.

When at doorway
at last we must
go into
unpredictable as paths
green as long time pour
and storm, as if
what you hear, world
runs off its skin
onto yours, mine
nothing we can encircle
no tabu.

It courses out, long
length of fruit and palm
bole and gutter, bridge
from cloud, from hours
come down wet.
And beats air, ground, concrete
tam-tam vibes weather -
how you hear it -
over me, over us, we into yet.

Must travel till clearing
of night drops last water
of insect, bushes and shore
and begin song must go.

Smoke

I round out my breath with a taste
more poised than earth
more conjugal than wild grass.
This is what I need
to lean on the day
the field maps that were there
(but you miss them
uncurling & sliding away).

It's a type of speech
whose patterns breeze & circle
or sit around gulping needs
along all bars that know sorrows
under the disc-changing light.

It enters my head, where it's needed
so I don't split apart.
It whispers me to sleep
reminding me
I need this cloud
to accompany my death.

Behind still not far

I was aware of the road but not
of my own.  Did I flatten myself against
unknowing, accidentally kick
a presence or prick the social air
gilded inside night? I could have
driven the width of our states
but the love I was leaving
the grip, the side of the highway
I was behind myself, holding it
badly, alone, tired of my eyes as I am
now bored with my excuses.
Perhaps the rain will be harder
than intended, perhaps this bruise
is still mine and I no longer need it.

Back to home