ditch,

the poetry that matters

Jean Jones

Jean Jones, originally from Bandung, Indonesia, received a BA in English in 1986 from UNC-Wilmington, and an MFA in Creative Writing: Poetry in 1988 from Bowling Green State University in Bowling Green, Ohio. Jean currently teaches Basic Skills at Cape Fear Community College in Wilmington, North Carolina. He has had two books of poetry published by St. Andrews Press from St Andrews College, North Carolina; the most recent, "Birds of Djakarta," was released in 2008. In addition, Jean Jones has a new book of poems entitled "Tornado" published by "Shaking Outta My Heart Press" from Wilmington, North Carolina.

 

AWAKENING
 
The bull-headed
                white horns
                            of the waxen moon
             stare back at me
in your voice:

Tell me,     what leopards sleep beside you?
 
What third eye
glistens in your voice?
What owls curl beside your bed?
 
The Three of Pentacles opens your Reading and the Three of Wands crosses you. ..
The Page of Wands is your goal
or destiny

Who is he?
Is it Oscar Wilde
Is it the Angel?
"I have dreams of a rose,
and falling down
a long
flight of steps. . ."
 
In the labyrinth
                we have eyes
                             The well
                that surrounds us
glistens

and we have taken part
in all this

                but nothing will satisfy this
                                                 nothing
 
Listen: your hymen
                   is the door to Plato's cave
                                                where Alice lies buried. . .

All my life I have wanted to go there

but I was afraid
                      afraid. . .

If I penetrate her veil
                          where would I be?
 
You sit next to me, a white table
and we sit,
                    smiling, smiling,

and "yet, . . yet. . ."

                    you strip this flesh from my skin

your body

                    a set of clothes I have worn

at least twice. . .
 
                                                         Afterwards,
we sit,              my eye trailing the ceiling

and you,             wet, glistening,

       and I ask myself,
                         "Does anything last?  Will this last?"
You reply,
"Nothing is permanent, nothing IS
All light melts inside this ocean
all light melts inside my mouth:

I want it
I want all of it
and I want you    I want you    I want you."


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