Midnight with Bottle


The lights
the lights
the lonely    lovely    fucking    lights
and the bridge on a rainy Tuesday night
– ‘Brooklyn Narcissus’, Paul Blackburn


The corpulent sky.
The river studded with moons.
The dark-breathing stars.
The hot mouth of a bottle
sleeted fire.
The arc of satellites.
The traffic of bright lines.
The shadow of an owl.
The rift between midnights.
The lights.

The shadowlines of satellites like the eye
can’t hold the real thing
for longer than a blink. The hot
sleet of stars across a rift
of river. The traffic of owls preying
on midnight
The leer of the studded sky through
the bottom of a bottle. The mist
that moonshines
the lights.

The lights
that bottom out the sky
into a river; that blink
and blink a sleet of fire;
that owls
dive into, preying. The lights
that line the midnight rift;
that fatten the moon.
The lights,
the lonely     lovely     fucking     lights.

River mouth.
Owl eyes.
Soft rift.
Whisky bottle.
And the bridge on a rainy Tuesday night.


Jac Jenkins generally lives a quiet rural life writing poetry and flash fiction. She has spent the last two years as an explorer of capability—living for nine months of 2016 in the Northern Territory of Australia, and then participating in Victoria University of Wellington’s 2017 MA in Creative Writing where her writing has extended into creative non-fiction.