magic

Making Meaning Quarantine

/ James Croal Jackson / 1 Comment

this repetitive block of Earth
same moon I hear the fucking
crickets chirping in my LOUD
LAPTOP FAN fog fog forget-
me-not forget me I can’t even
see my fucking FAMILY MY
FAMILY LIVES other lives
in this forsaken simulation I
live wildly too I experiment
mac and cheese with minced
garlic and parsley but it is still
Kraft no not still it is MAGIC
anything that sustains me is
MAGIC no MAGIC is LOVE
what LOVE keeps me alive is
NECROMANCY okay now
watch me unscrew my head and
place it on your porcelain plate
and let me TELL you
a SECRET after DESSERT
                                   I’ll wait

(originally published in Oddball Magazine, Summer 2024)

Lethargy

/ James Croal Jackson / Leave a comment

A butterknife has potential.
Voila! Cream cheese

on an everything
bagel.

The microwave beeps.
The ceiling fan spins.

Onions brown
at the bottom of the fridge.

Throw out the bag.
Then throw out that bag.

Swiffer shoeprints
off the floor.

Take your shoes off
next time.

Catch the mouse before
it multiplies

though you know
that means to snap

its neck.
So don’t.

Summon all the light
you can.

 

(originally published in DMQ Review, Summer 2017; featured later as a Verse Daily “Web Weekly Feature” the week of July 24, 2017)

A Walk Through Palms

/ James Croal Jackson / Leave a comment

When there’s nothing special about a sunset
lined with palms, there is nothing special.

Trees jut from behind roofs
like green skinny beanstalks extended forever.

Every plane a UFO.

Breathe the collective breaths of everyone.

Walks should be alone,
watching crows circle majestically
above stacks of garbage
bags in shopping carts.

Soon there are words:
first a sweeping hush,
a low hum.
Then the revving of neighbors
and their chatty sportscars.

The emissions enter the brain.
Then the atmosphere.
Whatever that is
is not what I am looking for.

 

(originally published in The Quotable – 2015)