It's the thingness in this that is so strong for me.
J
________________________Jill Jones www.jilljones.com.au
----- Original Message -----
From: "Poetryetc: poetry and poetics"
To:
Cc:
Sent:Wed, 8 Oct 2014 11:09:20 +0100
Subject:Life still
Flesh cut back to bricks, numbers predominate. Lettering persists but
conveys no nouns or verbs
a few almost exclamations, no more.
The integers endure, all lacking objects, hanging adjectival by
suggestion.
In due time, they pupate into substantives. One four seven nought
nine.
Arteries throb. Desires scream. Nineteen twenty-seven forty-five. He
must
die.
An exploratory tool digs into the salt-laden mortar.
He cannot bear it. He has died; an ejaculation of agony, and all the
apparatus dry so that pain rebounds. Each bearing scatters at high
velocity; and the pain returns, its echo and memory rolling round in
blood
jamming.
More than agony explores and remakes itself automatically, something
useless spun on a wheel under someone else's fingers being made
useful from
their point of view, a thing made other than it is by force.
A branch stripped of its leaves
|