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Jason Jones
Jason Jones grew up in the Philadelphia area and studied literature at Temple University. He is currently working
on "Barcelona", a novel which details the plight of an opera aficionado recently diagnosed with a terminal illness.
Transparencies

Most days I stand on the corner,
waiting for the light to change and casting spells
to discard my cloak of invisibility.

A resurrection of the flesh
would be nice. But I've become attached
to a spectral state and shed the mortal coil.

I am a ghost,
but without your love, I'm as scared
of the dark as an inventive child.

I am a transparency, vapor,
simple-minded, untraceable,
and oh so deathly afraid of myself.


Untitled VI.

Your alabaster skin and nude silhouette unfold
beneath the low light of a solitary candle, like a landscape
late in the day, like a valley at dusk. You tremble, as the
severed wings of Seraphim shake the Earth; and the delicate hair
that covers your body stands on end like tiny blades of grass in the
wind. With your depth, you envelop everything, so that I must
come to you from behind, hold your hands like roots within my own,
and make love to you in silence, for fear the angels of
that abyss will take hold completely.

I will lose myself, I know, but for some reason
no longer care.  You open and close and accept
my offering like rain, without bias. Your thirst is like
the soil and you drink from me as from a river.
I kiss the foothills of your shoulders, the plateau, your back and neck,
and these lips are no longer mine.

If I were to call you the moon instead, or the sun or stars, or
even the darkness would you understand
that I belong to you as I belong to this world;
that all that is eternal in me is eternal for you
and I will not let go? We are entwined on this day
as on all days: by belief, and by emotion,
and by the heart.
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