A river clogged with dismembered trees,
Peeling off their bark and killing the fish.
A road filled with foreign cars,
Wedging each other into inactivity.
A gritty slime spreading over toast.
An enemy signal, scrambled and inarticulate.
Jam, jamming, jammed.
A session with a rock band.
Too many socks stuffed into a drawer,
A lucky escape - a jammy one.
A key in a broken lock.
Half of Jamaica.
Jump After Me.
My grandmother made jam.
My mother never did.
My wife might turn it into a business.
My daughter should wipe it off her face.
Why don't people?
Erotic jam, licked playfully from skin.
Toxic jam, a dentist's dream.
Exotic jam. What fruit was in it?
Quixotic jam, by appointment to Her Majesty
Jam as torture, tied to an ants nest.
Jam as death, drowning your screams.
Jam as sculpture, sticky fingers.
Jam as monster, silver screen.
Jam is pretty.
Jam is sweet.
Jam is sickly.
Jam is cheap.
Jam is fruit saved for the winter.
Jam is glue for crumbly bread.
Jam needs no refrigeration.
Jam is eaten.
Jam is dead.
© 1987 Gavin Miller. All rights reserved.