Mouth Song

I ate the song
I ate the telephone booth
I ate the tax form
the guidelines and the injunction
I swallowed the driveway
all the neighbourhood watch
I ate statutes, the periodic table
some fabled brushes.

My taste has not improved
though I hear the elements singing
they have always been singing
they sing through fear
and counterfeits, wigs and seals
leaching of great caverns
of earth, they are
accounting in their fashion
vibrating like wine or coconut
spitting quarter rhymes and semi-light.

I am walking towards home
tongue in its sweet with the music on
each rib in its own sky
each sky in its own key
and changing all my money
for directions, changing all my
positions as I go.

Other poems by Jill Jones

The eclipse
Palm and rope
This is Friday high up

Poems from 'Ash is Here, So are Stars'

Embedded Dreams
Are You Worried About Yourself?

Reviews of 'Ash is Here, So are Stars'

A. Frances Johnson in Cordite Poetry Review
Lucy Alexander in Verity La


A conversation with Jill Jones