Friday, November 13, 2009

Inhalation wavelets by Jennifer K Dick

After Jonathan Wonham's Malt Whiskey, Nostalgia for Fire


Fire on the inside, snapped adrift on the way to mourning, last train

rumble to ramble homeward she aloft within a framework of glass

and concrete metal beams encase. She is thinking of words and webs

fingers scaling over bruised surfaces as if time could repeal action,

disactivated. Kick, hover, reasoned list of forgery, forgets.

She plasters herself to the pane, suction cup of each fingertip

sticking her to now, and then now.

3 comments:

Gerry Boyd said...

wow, masterful rolling of syntax. bravo!

Jennifer K Dick said...

Thanks Gerry! That is so nice of you to say!

Mary Baine said...

love those fingertips--like the suction cups at the ends of fly legs. Might you walk on the ceiling next?