los angeles

The Spectacle of the Oscars

/ James Croal Jackson / Leave a comment

I can’t stand it– in LA one year
Alex King and I were invited to

an Oscars party but in the midst
of another sad singing act we left

for tacos but still stood around on
the green and red tiles watching

a muted tv anyway I think Billy
Crystal was the host that year

the gleam in his eyes dead I
walked Sunset and Vine seeing

unsharpened pencil eyes all
these wannabes myself included

I peeked in one mirror to comb
hair and breathe into glass then

outlined my name inside a star
to leave a filthy myth somewhere

(originally published in Whistling Shade, 2021)

Silicon Valley (Season One, Episode Eight)

/ James Croal Jackson / Leave a comment

When you see me on screen–
with blue jacket and plastic
glasses– listening to Zach
Woods brainstorm a plan
to pivot Pied Piper into
an app that can attract
rodents– like the fairy tale,
you’d think this guy on TV
is one lucky bastard.
But you probably didn’t
notice, because you don’t
know me, and you see hundreds
of people on screen
living the dream every day.
And you can see me in season
two and the first episode
of the show, ever–
the very first scene,
during the Kid Rock
concert– on stage with a
hundred other extras, and–
at the time, I had
just moved to Los Angeles,
and the background roles
I had been cast for
resulted in me
on a projector!
My friends at home
who got used to me
no longer being able
to meet them drunk
at Highland Tavern on
Mondays were now not
completely surprised
to see me rewindable
in their living rooms.
I felt destined for great
things, marked this only
the beginning, like
everyone else chasing
dreams in the city of angels.
But all I could afford to eat
were packets of beef
ramen, boxes of blue
Kraft mac and cheese
with water instead
of milk– no butter.
Hard-boiled eggs
kept me alive
long enough
to come home
to show friends
who were getting used
to me being able to
meet them drunk at
Highland Tavern on
Mondays my favorite clip–
with blue jacket
and plastic glasses,
I listen to Zach Woods
brainstorm a plan
to pivot Pied Piper
into an app that can
attract rodents–
like the fairy tale.


(originally published in Statement Magazine, Spring 2023)

Beer Pong in Your Basement

/ James Croal Jackson / Leave a comment

I was new to this
kind of longing

sticky all my fingers
on red fingernail cups

but I was a visitor I was a loner
I lived in my car

a couch was a luxury
four cats purred and clawed

at me I couldn’t sink anything
into the drinks. I sank

but made myths I missed
everyone in Akron everything

that happens to you
sticks to you. swish

there was a way to
live in all places at once.

Pittsburgh Columbus Akron
Los Angeles. my memories

are mine and they are selfish. I cling
to what I forget which is what

I drink away which is all
the spills over all the years

I haven’t yet wiped clean.

(originally published in The Seventh Quarry, Summer 2023)

Low-Visibility Night Drive Home

/ James Croal Jackson / Leave a comment

                            For Tarik

highway needles appear
fast white lines I bullet
along an aimless angle
fate a roll of die half my
life I have had my license
tonight asphalt is slippery
and tenuous when I spend
too much time alone only
the hum of engine knowing
tires hiss more air the further
I go do not devalue yourself
the chanting mass says my
head loud roiling in ninety-mile
-per-hour grief I did not know
Tarik as well as those who knew
but I miss him should have
called in this ubiquitous darkness
smoke leather peeling off my
ten-year steering wheel a passing
truck sprays my windshield
mist this sharp steady rain Reek
drove a convertible he may have
been drenched but he would
have laughed made it seem okay
if I knew his misery if I could
see behind his laughter
mask the off-ramp winding
curve onto the final highway
home in his deep empathy
Reek drove this stretch of night
after switching off his lights

(originally published in Fine Lines, Fall 2021)

Red String

/ James Croal Jackson / 1 Comment

the road to dream is knotted
tangled          never broken
early mornings Santa Clarita

studio beneath setting moon
we talked     bright futures
in film reel and photograph

just two in a crowd afraid
of its own shadows        of
stepping out into the light

and not being recognized
       yes we have gone our
separate ways              love

and heartbreak heartbreak
and love     cardinal singing
an evening song to lull us

back to valley open full
with ink quill and camera
and old dreams to dream of

(originally published in Agony Opera, Summer 2021)

Annie, to Say the Ocean Hasn’t Changed You–

/ James Croal Jackson / Leave a comment

Tune-lover, beachcomber sculpting
seashells from stones to listen for ripples (nothing

loaded but time) and I have written– haven’t I–
distance into oblivion (that tidal bass a metaphor,
its vastness deepening) & am I not a shell of was

once, was gripping to any mast to lose
the sea, change quivering– I swear– every molecule
of my being, I must (from the must) of any old

ceiling, the dust it lends to fading carpets,
the ones we walked and walk on today

(originally published in The Broken City, Summer 2021)

Writing a Break-Up Album in the Underworld of Los Angeles

/ James Croal Jackson / Leave a comment

parking garage stone and yellow emergency
the microphone’s metal web against my lips

to vomit last year in haphazard dollops
of song, wolf, and waterfall dry music

career in loneliness this lifetime achievement
many-tailed and thick porous semiconscious

rambling strummed brown fingernails clacking
away at my hard reverberation of longing the car

window closed to keep the sound in


(originally published in The City Key, Spring 2020)