Jill
Jones
| Elasticity Whisper dry tracks, veils, of ways dream fuelled like escapees. I have my words, their elasticity connects skin, the alive thought. Magician! The price of form. To Speak in the Midst Tonight the moon is nearly naked water curves muddy, it tastes us Dewy marble, jazz tugs, whispering you: all forms of speech; woof, reptilian Waiting beauty, layered walls, catch sky drawing an end to the mind To feel out, gliding by voice anything but meaning’s high dark temptation My tongue talks to your back it’s not a series of stills Something to live by, fibrous patterns green interiors wait, secret skins shiver Furniture expands and falls apart do we want to be extraterrestrial? The skeleton moves, it’s what’s left all muscle moving, to speak, ‘thee’ Tear Through the Whole The interval flames, matter opening Winds change the road You laugh, in order to feel air the bird of the thing Blue crawls through the loess The tenets slip, you hope to escape the force of breakdown with which we worried and these: the pouch of language in violent space, feed of territory muddle of air, collapse of topography the end of output Yet dark manuscripts escape the interior animal, they write to you from within designs which tear through the whole Load questions in the tongue’s worm hole Take a walk in all directions, write them >>>John Kinsella
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