Poems by Tim Jones

A wide mouth, a wider smile, a coiffurethat could carpet an island. He’s adouble-breasted miracle to the silver set,a reminder

1: Detectable only by instrumentsFour deep breaths and a cough to order.Richter is a faint arrhythmia, a doctor’smusing on the

Kettled. Sunbursts the helicopter haze,picks details from doorways:flak jacket, hunk of hair.We push, are pushed. Fearsweats off in stale adrenalin.Mirrored

She fell away from the war,from building Rolls Royce engines, from the bank and its simultaneouswedding basket and farewell. From