Determination

Jill Jones

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    Is every day in this city a death
    in the face of sleep?
    Fast currents run out their research
    no longer confidential.
    We become customers browsing caves
    lost, uninstructed, alone without respect
    for any other love that walks on by
    so hard an aloneness that may capsize
    or close down lives.
    We are no longer confident but outdated
    mere soap bubbles
    in a pool of broadcasting corporations.
    We have no hands which can bear this force.

    Tell me if I have shifted, if I have merely posed
    and my fingers grasp tenuous locks
    opened for my liking
    if I have failed and you can give me no answer
    if no-one could find me
    no one carry me
    to your spread of shy waves
    as sky & light disappear ferried by the hours
    by manufacture & blast.
    How hard it is
    learning to handle the weight.
    Is it the price? Recording our inner longing
    outside boutiques of pleasure.

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    Even within decrease
    or whatever must be postponed
    a dubious night that could be our ruin
    or a morning flowering with grenades
    when great hulks turn over
    stacks of a system
    even if we are woken by storm
    we still eat our fruit
    as if undefiled by ropes, locks, court orders.

    We publish our pulse within
    each other panting, the heat.
    Our determination skates the hours
    skinning low on night
    uncontained.

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