Saturday, December 10, 2011

3 poems || marc jones

inheriting graze fold upper gristle

save each eighth get them travel

once under comes closer to yet stints

mince if this is mirth churns traipse

worry off a corner

from bottom right of say the screen gets

housing a corner tells you you’re at the end of

the line is there yes age you’re at the end of

the line as sloppy said as quit

your whining keep unspoken get back those

cretans dressed in mourning habits impending

causes reach wanting to live in a way into out

sitting & yes

now . the point

at which nothing has

lost its feet ,

has the page locks

such as returning , see

nor none direct .

a waft unfolds strength

peels . sitting might

say it is still . yes says

it is a limiting

stops crowds leaving .

reduce case be

but wait slowly construct

quiver weight trips .

mapping out

mapping out the wrest

mean its bore you’d

heckle she jumped diggers

skulled the teacher didn’t

mean swim on one’s back

an edge of neighbourhood

answer far from weekends

hands on creators coast

the indian selling tweed in the cinema

on the train was a distant relative

of jimmy durham antecedents

climb thru limits fit in

to noise or wet street

full of same limits roll your past

it sit or stand drills


never surface tread song

or place laughter stays

bumps start up close to landing

No comments:

Post a Comment