Eleanor Jackson is a Filipino Australian poet,
performer, arts producer, cyclist, writer, gal
about town, feminist, freewheeler, and
friend. One day, she is going to be an
ideas curator. Which basically
means, she will tell you
exactly what she thinks.
Until then, you’ll have
to read between
the lines.
Where were we again?
ubiquitous things are delicious in the mouth (I love you, I want you, I need you)
iron thoughts of urbane/arcana prop me up
in the throb of space. compact actions aggrandise
run on, ducking and dodging life’s disinterested scorn
hard evenings, hard heat coming from your ailing body
but still, I fold your clothes. still, I forward your mail (a telesthesia)
nothing shifts this factor: you are a man I do not know
today I see no purchase to give to others
this is a biblical confusion, after folding your clothes or chatting
anything will ever touch me again, for I do not want to be touched
with grief sparkling your eyes, you issue the holophrase : help!
come gently, and lie beside me, improvise with the body
for unnamed blase rage – furtive battle – shadowboxing
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