Anna Jackson
  • Home
  • Poems
  • Books
    • Pasture and Flock
    • I, Clodia, and other portraits
    • Thicket
    • The gas leak
    • Catullus for children
    • The pastoral kitchen
    • The long road to teatime
    • Last stop before insomnia
    • Dear tombs, dear horizon
    • The Bedmaking Competition
  • About
  • Actions and Travels
  • News and Enthusiasms
  • Catullus translations
  • Home
  • Poems
  • Books
    • Pasture and Flock
    • I, Clodia, and other portraits
    • Thicket
    • The gas leak
    • Catullus for children
    • The pastoral kitchen
    • The long road to teatime
    • Last stop before insomnia
    • Dear tombs, dear horizon
    • The Bedmaking Competition
  • About
  • Actions and Travels
  • News and Enthusiasms
  • Catullus translations
Search by typing & pressing enter

YOUR CART

​tips too much, that god sitting across from you, again
and again, these extravagant gestures, it brings
me down, brings down
sense and tongue, he, resounding
with my longing, seems to me like a mirror, eyeing
my fleeting glances, my feet tripping
over chairs, idle laughter
or was it coins resounding, seizing
the time, thick with nothing
yet revelry runs fiercely through my senses
as if through the burning house of poetry, my mouth
lit up
with dazzling fire, one day
I’ll say something
 
Powered by Create your own unique website with customizable templates.