over the hills

The science experiment is over,
the bells ting, litmus paper
is discarded, muddled
like today’s tunes

time flicks, half hour by
longitudinal push,

if you can bend yourself,
fend if you are sorry
about the desert you find
when you look to the north
over the beautiful hills.


Paul said…
I've been reading a lot of your poetry lately, Jill. I like it a lot. It has a unique combination of delicacy and strength. The language seems to touch the subject with a real lightness of touch but tremendous precision, a kind of architecture of meaning. I read this one as a metaphor of the female form as landscape, but that was just my inclining on a drunken Saturday morning. Have a fantabulous Anzac weekend, lest we forget!
Jill Jones said…
Thanks for the comment, Paul. Form as landscape, architectural - OK, yes. Not sure about the 'female' aspect, as such, apart from the fact that I wrote it. I was away over Anzac, pleasantly by water. No dawn service, apart from the birds.

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