Poem Diesel Butterfly
The Wanderer Butterfly drifts
lands just beyond me
then rises
turns so
swift
Poetry actually does things
turns things
through the head ear page
‘Try that again.’
syllable by
sound by sound
learning to count, magically
Language is a replica
like a market
Choose your words
or does the poet choose you
Diesel infiltrates from the street
the noise of grading
a footpath
Clearing my throat means
something, clusters
of phrases
echo, guttural or charm
re -
present
even when sad
or distracted
The Wanderer appears again
taking no note of me
I think three syllables
but it’s already gone
before I smile
I taste the bitter gas
new gutters must be laid
for important works
I hope we can still breathe
________________________
Jill Jones
www.jilljones.com.au
Latest book: Brink, Five Islands Press
http://fiveislandspress.com/catalogue/brink-jill-jones
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