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Jill Magi
Unfold the Storm Keys
Response:
Impression:
Why am I an old legend? when
Blackbirds
Portents
Love a ladder
Depart
into aperture, memory
Always a lobby
*
Wait for
Washington
monuments
to ancestors
Who do not forget
in concrete and paper
after
Foment us
*
I find myself
in force
Landscape
capped
how I walk
And how, fasting
the print does not
Taste her work
(open up the heading)
*
Through recounting
Unfamiliar rhythms:
Office key
Legend
seams
To fall barely
yellow
Sketches her complaint
Another room
convenes
*
Essay on work.
And then.
Sensory changes.
Going down to the water.
Over the water
To watch
Arrows
Alight
Cold
Surroundings
Comfortable
Too (contradictions.)
*
The I am supposed to act
In packages takes
Makes her
(she has outside)
*
Haunted blue
Day I would like reading
Upturned I would like to
Know?
*
Heard in war time
(this is war time)
to spend
x-ray
sparse
Voice
doubt
pictures
History of how far
they are willing to
*
Cold
officially
(If on this
Angle-mouth
tracing
Axiology:
with big value)
*
Can spring
pulled
Move
the position
over to
Empathy?
Circled and
Sharping subsume
*
For what remedy
hold out
Corral
Much entrenched
in this story that
(Not even
packing in
what is needed)
tiny hair caught in net
in a net-
shaped world, tiny
hair and inch-
square label
hangs clear, engraved
as a sign
signed “world”
shadows
dispose of the object
as the totem-
pole world remains
cast
thinking “molecular”
city meander: blood, through-
street, river, avenue, tendon
who does not need
to reproduce
she did not say
take the path
except to show
a line of clear thread
still makes shadow
I want “map”
but pull up short
like “plot”
your head, each thought
framed in her wiry
dispersion
her city says window,
flight, disasters, possible, relation,
organized not
to fit bodies until
fall
boxes, reflections
rather than actual
and light-
dependent, hinge
on thinking
a mistake
image for her
pleasure, basket
near calculations
far heat
problems of representing
moss
happy vertigo, walls
distinct
space for others
wary of directives
note the blur still
earthen plates
shift days open
as torn
her purpose
his question, repeating
trees
on transparent ground, an idea
walking
singular
different from the spread
pleasure shows itself
publicly
she reasoned
to obscure
without violence
four squares
as hands and feet
give up, still
water
marked path
lines remain
we did not read
“intersection,”
willingly
time rests down
on a surface
we call home
and to house
like canyon
you want to join
two sides by seeing
endless joy
how shapes
speak experience
depends on repeating,
not speech
this trap
could say “words,”
who possess
the curl of paper
below
that skin can’t
refuse sitting down
next to a child:
warm air opens
the lines
a spring
signals joy
speaking hurtles through
the net, edges
moving toward middle
say “gap”
if to fill is instinctual
never a place, quite
or precision
gives way
to city
walls
on which she
at last
leans and they
listen
off-center
performs the pleasure
of center where
ink would not take
to find another land
could be “loveliness”
or to stay, say
“yellow
underscores time,” moving
into net,
memorizes me
*
(re-read Jorie Graham on silence, think some more about Penelope essay, thinking about nets, think about video project)
listening to elena rivera
cravings
disuse
suitcase
plastic numbers
state
scarcity
square
city snow
suitcases
dry heroic sound
plant a birch
habit of wishing
habit of wanting
shore arrival
co-evil we are
water
haves
have-not
city-affliction
sad dream
mirages
tame against tight wall
stamen
state vendetta
culture
city’s buying game
eros into a gimmick
the sword fails
caring
tactics of pretending this
home
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