January, so–
renewal, no, just
soaking in the sunrise,
the year– not NEW
year, same shit
as last, endless weeks
of overtime, begging
the sun
please change
your sleep pattern,
stay up all night
for me!
(originally published in bluepepper, Winter 2021)
I am in competition with darkness
staring into the eyes of people playing people
says the man who lost himself in Los Angeles
on purpose to walk to the beach and along
its shore at night with grayblue jacket lightly
shielding me from breeze inside other footprints
shapeshifting to waves rocking against a porch
of a vacation home that pile of gold inside
a beached skull I carried into an orchard with
knife and sliced gala apples into motorboats how
Dad used to and it is not littering when I biodegrade
myself into Earth sinking deeper into its core
where I sleep for two hours and
wake up a new and filthy man
(originally published in Rabid Oak, Summer 2019)
we smoke
our paper
lungs
in the storm
then run
from your mom
to seek
an awning
to shield
the holes
in our chests
flames
tempered
by rain
clouds
scream
from our mouths
billowed gray
how it floats
above like
to warn us
forests need not
consume flame
(originally published in Hedge Apple, Spring 2019)
I curled into the receiver,
listened to your space-static
breaking up, breaking up–
I imagined your blue
eyes in the light
leading me down
into abyss–
but I refused to look.
(originally published in Raised Brow Press, Summer 2020)
Blackbirds linger over the summer of 2012–
I followed them to Austin ahead of winter’s white
knuckle, veered west into the world of tv,
an industry where I found & fought the devil
in myself, his blade lodged still deep within me.
I chose Los Angeles over love, a dead dream
over crisp grass, intoxicated phone calls of
a faraway devotion– how I once told Tony
who I would marry, how it was inevitable
until the two-thousand mile difference
we would never bridge.
(originally published in riverbabble, Summer 2019)
I walk this familiar street
of spring. Cherry blossoms,
sunshine, the desire
to drink. Yesterday
I snuck into a field
with a flask to avoid
the knife room I
tell myself to stay
out of. My longing a black
rolled-up rug. I tell myself
Stay wound, trying how
I can before I let again
the drunk in me to walk
through the door,
spill me out in scuff
marks and mudprints
just after the rain.
(originally published in Penmen Review, Summer 2019)
the runway your handmade
jewelry accompanying
this crystalline flying
to new cities all the time
desire to find the shine
in this anxious jittering
era of highs and highers
these tired accoutrements
remain in blood to flow
into rivers of our futures
(originally published in Ariel Chart, Winter 2021)
I wear
another hungry
headache from
waking
drool dribbling out
into blue pool
on pillow
having shaken
off another night
of tigers’ teeth
and bent bones
grateful at least
inside a home
to pour
yesterday’s coffee
drank black then
to the bridge
to watch
yachts fade
into mist
oh the rich
don’t know
what they’re missing
(originally published in Rue Scribe, Summer 2019)
a polo
means
sacrifice
so I shave
my patch
of beard
small hairs over
splotchy white
sink
every day the
eggstained
jeans
I will take
this meager
pay
to bring
garbage
to a dumpster
and wash
a stranger’s
dish
in a brown
apron
that is far
enough
outside
of me
to make me
believe
this is not
me
(originally published in Northampton Poetry Review, Spring 2019)
Strong Baboon, I lost all sense of language
Duck Angel, blue clouds are turning dark
Anchored Cheetah, chase my spirit away
Smiling Lion, Naked Genie, give your lust & longing
Horned Horse, may one day you breathe flame
Lost Dog, you have seen my lover
Furless Cat, may my home become yours
Hunchback Hyena, I, too, holler at the edge of a roof
Tender Dove, may you pass these tigers safely
Galloping Bat, may we find a bed deep in a cave
(originally published in Artvilla, Spring 2021)
James Croal Jackson 