Hendrik Jackson

the word that does not come to pass -
and yet, we do not go into the immanence
of a big-bellied, dark, barely
discernible life, self within self
...

small cohorts bear flags eagerly on through the days up the mountain
riff-raff with the cloven hoof of avarice; while I wait for some
...

the shallow breathing of power: took the throat out of us
(wheezing) on the pink painted planks (quality equipment:
over. done with.) drove us into the open, circumnavigators we
became servant masters, master servants. (standard lamp)
...

I

travellings so many lights, iron doors, above us cassiopeia involuntary
reflexes blur the snapshot of the moment (shadow walls standing) -
the pulse of traffic lights switching, a letter in your side pocket you ran
...

I

draught up our sleeves from the side wind, tiredness suppressing
a few half words, we moved into the colder frost-air by the rear frontage
of a distant building, a couple among the houses, at night
...

travels? voices? (buzzing wires) - on landing you looked: heavenwards
in flight perhaps you belonged to the inventory of the world, in the child's
eyes.
...

Moments of crystallization, flow with the day. Frost _ Inhale
again the dream collapses, overwhelmed from affections
inasmuch as the snow collects across dispersed, good days. As by
imprinting you pull yourself out from the earth, heavenly greetings
...

rain made for itself its sea and the sea its waves, clouds
swelled over the white spray of the sea - light tones -
and like dust on the tape track everything mixed in together
the voices, whispering, emerge from yesterday, from its
...