CONTRIBUTORS

Jill Jones

Jill Jones most recent books are Viva the Real (UQP), Brink (Five Islands Press), The Beautiful Anxiety (Puncher & Wattmann), which won the Victorian Premier’s Prize for Poetry in 2015, and Breaking the Days (Whitmore Press), which was shortlisted for the 2017 NSW Premier’s Literary Awards. Her work is represented in a number of major anthologies including the Macquarie PEN Anthology of Australian Literature, Contemporary Australian Poetry, and The Penguin Anthology of Australian Poetry. An entry on her work is included in the current edition of The Oxford Companion to Modern Poetry in English. With Scots-Australian poet Alison Flett, she publishes chapbooks through Little Windows Press. Currently, she is a member of the J.M. Coetzee Centre for Creative Practice, University of Adelaide.

Improvisings. Of Sheer Now.

1: What I’ll Become I am assembled a history of what I’ll become Far off there are holdfasts cosmos winks, metal and darkness The mind is also a swirl needless opera The divine numbers are a gamble zero is a …

Posted in 93: PEACH | Tagged

To Split and Join

To praise impressions wherever bodies lie down, whoever To be with skin To not be but be here To not be a cut-out on a back lot To keep shoes fit and batteries keen To be as real and dirty …

Posted in 88: TRANSQUEER | Tagged

Restless

I’m restless about affinity There’s a form of am in every dream Stress prevaricates Aniseed lingers You can be too fond of fences making shiny choruses Air is a treasury The horizon fills with shallow light There’s devil in the …

Posted in 86: NO THEME VII | Tagged

The Blossoms of Retail

We become our shopping something that’s not quite feeling a semi-emotion as if underwater or near tears unable to breathe or drown. Are we living in the present tense or another kind of mood? Where are the horses, the plains? …

Posted in 84: SUBURBIA | Tagged

At Least Four Instances

how do you fend off the sea it will be here if not ever but as your fever or your shadow when you stop breathing do doors open as they did does your hand feel the same in the night …

Posted in 83: MATHEMATICS | Tagged

The Storm

The storm catches on the door. It’s a good sign, a surge that’s more than breathing, that blows away dirt from reliquaries, and directions from their careful signs. It’s near speech and near trembling, sky bringer fate crowning from its …

Posted in 80: NO THEME VI | Tagged

My Skeptic Tremor

Perhaps I require revolution rather than mending day or need to get back to my ill channels, disinterest, a fetish or two and a more obvious sin than procrastination. Force is never equal, not in my calculations, nor is severance …

Posted in 57.0: CONFESSION | Tagged

Seven Formulas of Method

1. Data: Sun on the right hand Sand fun this roght hend Sent an tho rught hind Sin ends thumb raght hond Song in that reght hund 2. Mix: on the right sand / sent behind / thumbs end rage …

Posted in 55: FUTURE MACHINES | Tagged

In Flight Entertainment

‘no more blues’, that’s not a promise there’s no traction or policy in the blues all those bars are too long a cycle to make for twittering views no more plaints or graces no thanks, ‘watch and listen carefully’ enhanced …

Posted in 53.0: THE END | Tagged

Bearing False Witness

Stories of the heat rise above the boards and the walls bounce them, like lies. Walls are made of stuff that hides from me, those measurements, the mason’s spans. Dust is the choke, and across vision there’s a bar. I …

Posted in 51.1 : UMAMI | Tagged

In My Shifts

I come in with language I come out of. Its weed, its shrill bugs. A harvest, a rot, a dervish. Cooked into night. Swum from beginnings. Patterns at the bottom of a pool. Something that doesn’t fit. That shifts and …

Posted in 51.0: TRANSTASMAN | Tagged

Asks

What’s it like to be refurbished tackled or finger-printed? It’s not something you can ask but I’m asking. What is it like to be watched waited, frisked? Whenever I worry about my suit my transparency, I don’t think of brightness …

Posted in 49.0: OBSOLETE | Tagged