Douglas Jones


the wheel to
                           cross the lane
                                                     o' empty tins to
                                                                             blue open
                                                                                                              glimt   which
                                                                                                                                redness fields
                                                                                                                                                          stoke us and
sun dressed
            so you'd know
                                  sees hands at
                                                               the big mark the
                                                                                            sly sly hip
                                                                                                             mossed damn
                                                                                                                                    fool stone
                                                                                                                                                   or close  to  30 greatness
bronze palace
                 fence  remote
                                          of verdigris
                                                            shapes apples
                                                                                        wet winkling
                                                                                                             that      embrace
                                                                                                                                                    between vacant
burst between breaths
                                et climb
                                          the fortieth limb
                                                           empty chimner
                                                                              but whither
                                                                                           white poms
                                                                                                            spruce  point
                                                                                                                                             splicing two poles
                                                                                                                                                                        t' chaos
          silent,  exclaimed
                               gull or gulls
                                               those chair
                                                                 we have loved
                                                                                        stressed to glass porcelain
                                                                                                                 in a tired loop vatic
                                                                                                                                          on auto anatomical
two turns +
                    the dead
                              said   vote
                                                            gym throws to
                                                                                   a line  the new world
                                                                                                  church  y's fraction
                                                                                                                     over past god
                                                                                                                                   2 the fuck tourist
                                                                                                                                                         ride an empty post
what is
              round was
                         twice round if
                                            you'd wanted semen
                                                                  and ghost if
                                                                                      you heard
                                                                                                       the  wires
                                                                                                                     would to sparrows
                                                                                                                                     games front black earth
                                                                                                                                                        of that impression
       swing or down
                         ah make of
                                      me   a roll
                                                     a turnkey a beaten
                                                                 plain +
                                                                             if my ol' bones
                                                                                      would avail - something
                                                                                                         to counter attack with
                                                                                                                            something that digests
                                                                                                                                 while recreating
                                                                                                                                                  segments as if
                                                                                                                                                                  head of the bird
for mankind
                             what flipped
                                                   their grits
                                                             suave-ling  understanders
                                                                          and food for safeways
                                                                                           were  bolts
                                                                                                          they drew out
                                                                                                                             their penises
                                                                                                                                     loose confirmed
                                                                                                                                                  pet   cells
                                                                                                                                                                      to rolf
         but direct
                    the path of unbroken
                                               poke matter
                                                                that never
                                                                                   made it quite
                                                                                                as monkey
                                                                                                                but shown in partials
                                                                                                                                   wood, aluminium
                                                                                                                                                     as storm petrel herself
cast out or
          make in rows
                    form up
                                 or disassemble
                                               in radio
                                                        contract to
                                                                 virtuous integers
                                                                                      the few actions
                                                                                                         of good men
                                                                                                                             on the way
                                                                                                                                         fill the water
                                                                                                                                                    fill the house
                                                                                                                                                              with filing
Not when
         One went
                               one made
                                                               cut as you
                                                                             harried the pond
                                                                                        and spoke
                                                                                                     to the water you
                                                                                                                        not sense
                                                                                                                                    but working
                                                                                                                                                through the gaps
                                                                                                                                                                of neutraphils