from the series Untitled


by Jody Porter




untitled 96


many-starred branches hand down acorns,

marbles and lionesses.  three newborn


jacarandas between toes trumpet-like, their qualia

unearth an iron lyre.  each string buzzes low


drones purposeful.  the garlicky taste of dead birds

blooms in the hollow treads of feet.





untitled 97


noon-west gaps skip defiantly, coloured glass

pleases next the rail.  a pub.  stretch by grief.


cup.  missed mornings and missed agreements

rescind by the by.  stock controller stacks the drinks


wide.  gauzy spilled lime slicks and deafness.

moot marred beginnings by halves or less.





untitled 98


coos meantime map the garden’s puncture

under wheel and the rack.  scrutiny calls the curtain.


it was in the red restaurant when we were four,

when i said that it was lack that was the word.


ash-made frames pocket upstairs and walls

Yggdrasil holding nothing from all.





untitled 99


dust gathers in the myth-coughing corner

through shutters and whisky stains, sooner


sightless days wander.  too many battles.

i don’t drink there any more.  no one does.


dreamer at his seat speaks into his drink:

tomorrow we will be, and we will not be dust.





untitled 100


amarelles mark the path, coffee spooned into

cups and dark paint hushed.  so sour as to be blue


they glow like fish.  eyelash glued by honeycomb:

i can’t wake or move.  castleteeth are cracked stones


and can’t speak.  guided by the amarelles death in noon

sleeps past day.  a conch shell displays a bloom.


E·ratio · Porter.pdf