Issue 7: Jill Jones

[Two untitled poems from Senses Working Out]

IN THIS WEIRD interlude

perhaps the boxes will fall

on me or the switches

will fail even though

I told you about the

dragon at the window

waiting while the planes

fly backwards and sky

is covered in indigo blue shag

while the shallows become

aquamarine and quiet for once as

the highway liquefies at night

runs the voodoo be careful what you

have made the phrases stumble

over the phone and you can’t

put them together in the wind

the next day and the next day

are screeching at the entrance

their hours are now disabled

because of the fuel you spent

walking back streets with

their carpets and jewels and

late-flowering jacarandas

it seems extreme the quiet

and layers of dung among

spring roses is everyone

auditioning for a horror movie

ten takeaways, nine androids

eight who do you loves

seven splatter flix, six dollars

five frantic (inwardly)

four butterfly taboos, three

chocolate prayers, two women kissing

one stupid law, no exit

due to construction

and still I feel tender

as if it’s the night’s fault

or the morning’s which follows

so soon after the dream

which showed no quarter

as though your life should be

relived in motion

rather than stasis

no-one wants to hold anything

and someone keeps counting

on their hands but you know

each number is a fool

only for you


WE ARE ALL making works, I hear

us in the fences, the metal

quavers and muddle tumbles

in time with our hands and

our breaths, we make a blow

or a tough thumb into patches

of water grass cotton cement

parsley phrases gas conversation

we have tools of self-worth big crunch

and absences of the wheel

o we are rolling, our high

pitched handles and pulses

wheezing even as we hang

walls and move votives around detours

or heave loins and icicles

as if it’s not a question of

happiness or learning flight

although coverts involve themselves

at heft and in the build

strokes through the breath

but if we are yet to be

skeletons we are still yet

to be making because

and there is nothing, nothing

without this bread, if fresh

burnt mould dry delicious

with our shoulders

Jill Jones’ latest books are Broken/Open (Salt, 2005) and Dark Bright Doors (Wakefield, 2010). She co-edited, with Michael Farrell, Out Of the Box: Contemporary Australian Gay and Lesbian Poets (Puncher and Wattmann, 2009). She has also published five chapbooks, the most recent being Passages: Annotations (Ungovernable Press, 2010), an e-book of poems and poetics. She is a member of the J. M. Coetzee Centre for Creative Practice at the University of Adelaide.