JAYNE FENTON KEANE
Jayne Fenton Keane is a diverse poet who has three books published and
who has won awards in numerous fields of literary endeavour.
they visit you as fraudulent conservators
blueprints and integrity at the ready
as they scrub your pubic hair down to the bone
and sketch a white frame around your sex
they hang your image between synthetic palms
lather you with sepia and civilization
but you have already washed your disciples
have fractured their angels
in your stainless steel sink
Deep Noise in Oceanarium
ring tone auditorium
He looks at me - eyes flippin 'n flappin'
glazed over in tissuey threads.
bone me to causeway
and sandbank, my answer an impossible
The wreck is an answer too shattered to speak.
Memoir of a house
cracking its beams. In early spring
after the thaw of spring's heavy snow,
"I have to know” he says, "I have to know."
through the glass
Abruptly you blink, the animal aroused
check for danger, check the molten dark
random and vestigial
Half mother, half father, half stranger, a stark
narwhal horn pierces ice. There's a body frozen
in a crease. Milky, shapeless tentacle of sea
your invitation is composed of fatal lures.
An alien kiss arcs lust in a neurone's wild electricity.
A lobster's claw grips my language at the sight of
your face, floating in long pale gelatinous strands.
Strewn in the weeds an old purse and a $20 bill.
Faraway now, weary, your torso is wretched and panting.
Calm. He said
be calm. Her love
melting over deformed
stalker. Truth is
anything but somnolent
calm. All this in
a kitchen of overflowing
pans. Tiny hammers
tinkered between hearts
the kitchen window, a
At this stage the crisis is still cerise.
Photoshop filters applied to seasons.
salt spilled on the table
Inside her browsing iris - View - she is an ancient idea of 13 (years old). full of - Favourites - like so many debutante stories stepping onto the threshold of 13. superstitious searches for the word woman - Tools - greet the lucky girls. She is still young enough to sit open mouthed in front of a horse animation.
On the dark side of a rump it is possible to taste running.
Among streets, sky is mere silhouette and the sparrows are noise.
Back to Front.