Poem
Jill Jones
HEAT IN A ROOM
HEAT IN A ROOM
HEAT IN A ROOM
January soaks the hill with white skygrass writes into blood and a river of heat sings
Music loads the morning with legends
an afterimage of crowds reaching into a room
Small dried packages of territory remain unturned
there is whispering outside under the redemption of intervals
Just as silence deciphers light
exchange rates cycle gently through conversations
And days draft me, breathing extinction
my skin a chassis of orange
As for the car, it shimmers into the raging sunset
then sort of erupts
(a kind of persistent hope that nobody gets caught)
The night’s hangers are loose in the closet
sleep is a projection, part of the weightlessness
It is impending – a delicate sense of the flange
it seems as though the room is small.
© 2005, Jill Jones
From: Broken/Open
Publisher: Salt Publishing, Cambridge
From: Broken/Open
Publisher: Salt Publishing, Cambridge
Poems
Poems of Jill Jones
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HEAT IN A ROOM
January soaks the hill with white skygrass writes into blood and a river of heat sings
Music loads the morning with legends
an afterimage of crowds reaching into a room
Small dried packages of territory remain unturned
there is whispering outside under the redemption of intervals
Just as silence deciphers light
exchange rates cycle gently through conversations
And days draft me, breathing extinction
my skin a chassis of orange
As for the car, it shimmers into the raging sunset
then sort of erupts
(a kind of persistent hope that nobody gets caught)
The night’s hangers are loose in the closet
sleep is a projection, part of the weightlessness
It is impending – a delicate sense of the flange
it seems as though the room is small.
From: Broken/Open
HEAT IN A ROOM
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