Tag Archives: James Croal Jackson

Poems are my flecks of skin I want people to take home After a reading last year Jordan told me he likes my poems but they are only skin cells So Jordan wants my blood wants to syringe my heart … Continue reading →

                                    – sign posted by the African Tree Grape                                     at Phipps Conservatory and Botanical                                     Gardens in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania meaning I love you I love you or I did it’s not dead I swear in my heart there’s our little room full … Continue reading →

Dark and spacious carriage – architecture splits before me, chunks of wood floating in green pond. Summertime was a memory I ate like strawberries behind the wheel. Sticky khaki shorts and burnt-out suns encapsulate the void closing in: a blood … Continue reading →

One day I’ll have to leave your house & venture into blizzard– love, we found each other frozen in a field of withered stalks & each embrace since has used up precious warmth. We warm ourselves & hold on tight … Continue reading →

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 →