Tag Archives: James Croal Jackson

Palm to neck – tactile hypocrisy. My Adam’s apple, weren’t my lips once sweet for Jesus? Crucifixion was puberty lapping holy water in adulthood’s church, blessed be hope. To remake myself is a perpetual game of jacks and marbles rolled … Continue reading →

I was searching, too, having lost the will to film when I left Los Angeles. So when you and Billy hid bags of Haddad’s M&Ms from the other, I learned it’s okay and rare to find such sweetness inside the … Continue reading →

Since I first saw your face shine from a stage and again in desert sun and through cool, desert night, you always felt right. We are soaked now in swimming pools and sands pooled near the coastline’s swaying smile that … Continue reading →

Your wristwatch ticks slower than mine. Time does not account for the beating of two hearts on opposite coasts. Know we pass through days the same: second by second, minute, hour, moon—every second, every minute I fill myself with your … Continue reading →

I used to find joy in little things. Like luck on the head of a penny. Or a tire chained to a blue wall in the subway. Or two bullets, no gun. Or your glance on long drives beside the … Continue reading →

We were children foretold to save the world. We made love in alleys hidden from the moon. We calculated the trajectory of movement, fleeing into battle rooms of weightlessness inundated with that floating feeling of our necessary covalence. In our … Continue reading →

The only deals I found in Vons were in clearance. Beers half-off per bottle. They’ll be ready in a box in my too-orange, too-granite Public Storage space when I am. Bearded teens saunter by in lumberjack caps. I will wait … Continue reading →