A universe of birth marks bloom in the face of old aches.
Nature’s green centuries assemble in chains
off centre from time’s convex.
They will taunt for the duration.
We can only be ordered as we are
spectators shanked to ibises along a dead Nile.
The hidden screw continuous its moves.
As such it is pitiless even for one who vacillates
within the dance.
Words are praise of morning’s magpie above
flocks and wingtips.
There’s a a slip in the outfield, jittery as history.
And a state of hardness whose tastes move bitterly.
We appreciated the double, its deceptive number
on the card, for beauty and then the sky
Old protests were the first place we learnt
to speak the obvious.
Forgets sins which run between our hands.
The gum’s tears are also true
while the spider turns aphorisms on any newcomer.
Despite a thrill that is nightmare
I continue rhythm, images and measures.
I've often stumbled over erasures
a trash of existence piles inevitable graphic conclusions.
My evasions burst their basins.
I live in shade moulded on clutter without act.
I duplicate the infinite. Beyond, bird flown.
Jill Jones
6 October, 12.35 am Marrickville
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Jill Jones
Latest books:
Broken/Open. Available from Salt Publishing
http://www.saltpublishing.com/books/smp/1844710416.htm
Where the Sea Burns. Wagtail Series. Picaro Press
PO Box 853, Warners Bay, NSW, 2282. [log in to unmask]
Struggle and radiance: ten commentaries (Wild Honey Press)
http://www.wildhoneypress.com
web site: http://homepages.ihug.com.au/~jpjones
blog1: Ruby Street http://rubystreet.blogspot.com/
blog2: Latitudes http://itudes.blogspot.com/
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