By | 1 August 2014

(a cento, for/after Jill Jones)

hours may not be to scale
as when there becomes
here & stars reach

output’s end the stadium
birds equally bluffed
by meteorology could you

understand breath
as a casting of doubt
now the bottle’s hardly

night-deep a river city’s
water moon pretends
to purity where water’s

a pilgrimage the gods
look a lot like clouds
stranded without motive

Note: Includes some words and phrases from Jill Jones’s book Dark Bright Doors
(Wakefield Press, 2010).

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