Patricia Spears Jones Poems

We are at the genesis of a bolero
eyes, lips, thick, kinky dreads
beds, cars, stars
a singer's words curve
...

Bet your beeswax who said
Bet your beeswax what is
Beeswax -how did it arrive?
...

One more year alive.
Exploding fireworks precisely timed.
At the corner of the avenue young men slap five.
Discrete are the rhythms of waltzes
...

For a hummingbird in Hawaii
And an empty corridor at Heathrow
For the boy with a kite
...

He was wearing a dapper suit and midnight blue brocaded tie-no stripes on him.
There was a sparkle in his brown eyes/his ghost was most corporeal
You're still curious about the world, I asked.
...

I can taste the metal
lose my desire for red meat
relax, every muscle
relax
...

I have not torn my hair in a public place
Or worn a dress the size of a dime
Once I spoke in a French accent, but it sounded
Lithuanian
...

Dixie cups and bullet marks—a man's body gone to the morgue,
tiny bombs exploding limbs, organs. Bullet marks and Dixie cups.
A winter scene suddenly hot with summertime choler.
...

He was filled with beauty, so filled he could not stop the shadows
from their walk around his horn, blasting cobwebs in the Fillmore's ceiling.
Somewhere dawn makes up for the night before, but he is floating.
Dead in the water. And yet, my lover tells me, he saw him shimmering.
...