Jonathan Jones


Beginning at 3 a.m. Your thoughts
are sticky as though licked
to seal an empty
envelope. Tiny legs tread
and tear across
the plastic cosmos, wet
like carnage neatly
splayed out for collection.
Days crowd out with pheromones.
Marked for Passover, the language
throbs and swells
a pure efficiency. Far colonies
of intricate construction
slide the deadbolt shut.
Wade out into the shallow sun.
No history meets here, for all
its human engineering.
Starfish aligned from stern
to bow. The hysterical
shaking of the tree of life,
three hours of slow
descent; a new convergence
far and dissociate.
Inheriting these sands
you exit Babylon on a temporary
passport. Your heart
a silent speed dial where
each morning supersedes
its simple fact. The human
is no mere commodity.
You cannot hold your breath.
Wipe your fingers in the Holy

Jonathan Jones

JONATHAN JONES qualified in 1999 with his M.A. in Creative Writing from Bath Spa University College and in 2004 with an MRes in Humanities from Keele University. He now teaches writing composition at John Cabot University in Rome.

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