you're right, the boundaries are blurred
so how do we play the fictions
this isn't how reality murmurs it
somewhere near the instant pharmacies

the long leisure of this window
involves too many factors
as night drops its micro-economic lights

whatever is significant has nothing to do with poems
their measures aren't fiscal

whatever is significant has nothing to do with bodies
Annie will only have one working foot tomorrow
she has to wait a while for two once more

I have not seen - anything - so I write
I want to be a client on a sea-sky-change
make my methods drip a little into the skin

even though the sun is a killer these days
opening out my pores
to small drops of infinity turning black in the flesh

the matrix is harder than its movies
even on the outskirts of agony you're in it
tomorrow I sit and wait
with two legs to stand on and mind-worry beads for friends

I don't know how to do nurse
save it's more than soup and pillows

if that's the criteria
I'll be blurred and do that I can
not seeing
keep to my fictions and not these festering initiatives

in another story I know what to do

Wednesday 22 September


mark young said…
I'm guessing that in this story you'll also know what to do, of that I have no doubt.
Jill Jones said…
Hi Mark,

Yes, it's the kind of knowing that is doing, dealing with the stuff.


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