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There are lands that slip through my fingers,
causeways and spillways that extend beyond my reach.
This world keeps getting larger,
larger, growing infinitely,

loving infinitely by the process of destruction
by consumption. I stretch and another city
has left a hole on the map
where it had been
only forty-eight hours ago. Belly to the earth
I scan the crater it is,

the striations it made when it slid
into the next time zone. This is pure passion,
craving adaptation
the demands that bend and lift
what was thought to be solid

(solid as my finger
on this dot making angles and refractions
with my thumb, measuring the angles
to where you lived yesterday).

I look
and Los Angeles has fallen into the ocean, did a breast-
stroke to Hawaii, came up for air and sleeping pills

and now resides in Xiamandung. A butterfly
may breathe
and bring it back tomorrow
but for now the damage is done.

fall 2006

Jawbone

The scent beneath your ear,
before your neck,
where summer forgot to kiss your hair,
tastes secure and sacred.

Could we be sheltered from undeniable carnage
within these angles,
Would your particular geometry save me,
save us all?

Holiness is found in this
one square inch.

All the religion I’ll ever need
I can grasp between these lips
to take your jawbone

and worship.

scott odom print

The Fallible Gods by Scott Odom

Bio: Jai Britton lives in the beautiful foothills of the Rocky Mountains where she is attempting to write her first novel, interruption. She has been in numerous online and print publications, recently including Thieves Jargon, Word Riot, Carnelian, and upcoming in Frigg Magazine. You can reach her at sourtaste7@hotmail.com .

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