Published in Overland Issue 230 Autumn 2018 Uncategorized Mouth form flower Jill Jones Let fault flaw Let the fence fall Let’s flabbergast the goal with tongues Let debacle warp in dawn Let beginning bury end Let a hundred pods hush Let the mouth form flower Let flesh flash Let’s lick plethora Let erosion jabber in the gown Let’s find fit and make do Let’s sieve without crashing Let debris fill rust Let myriad dapple and draw Let’s spurn our quote marks Let’s trick death perception Let limit out Let not mere quintessentials Let wreckless wreck more Let cloth drop Let’s lay waste the hours Let’s not say Let a thousand errors bloom Read the rest of Overland 230 If you enjoyed this poem, buy the issue Or subscribe and receive four outstanding issues for a year Jill Jones Jill Jones was born in Sydney and has lived in Adelaide since 2008. Recent books include Wild Curious Air, A History Of What I’ll Become, Viva the Real, which was shortlisted for the 2019 Prime Minister’s Literary Awards for Poetry and the 2020 John Bray Award, and Brink. In 2015 she won the Victorian Premier’s Prize for Poetry for The Beautiful Anxiety. Her work has been translated into Chinese, French, Italian, Czech, Macedonian and Spanish. More by Jill Jones Overland is a not-for-profit magazine with a proud history of supporting writers, and publishing ideas and voices often excluded from other places. If you like this piece, or support Overland’s work in general, please subscribe or donate. Related articles & Essays First published in Overland Issue 228 28 November 202229 November 2022 Film Noirvember at the movies: on the pleasures of personal curation Eloise Ross Watching noir all month, in its many transcontinental variants from the past eighty-odd years, really is a fantastic thing to do. I’m finding connections between films that aren’t obvious, or that might not appear to me without the benefit of such programming and framing. First published in Overland Issue 228 25 November 202228 November 2022 Poetry Poetry | Summer animal Jini Maxwell This summer I can feel myself turning back into an animal. I wake up early and seek out trees, walking through the expansive quiet of the park until the heat starts feeling sharp on my skin. I leave the blinds closed, so when I return home the building is dark and familiar, and as I shut the door behind me I feel a satisfaction I can only describe as territorial.