THE STRIP (VEGAS)
in no other place does the sun
swindle the breath from your skin
those who walk in the neon glow
cut the chords of their own harps.
your tired shoes crush cans
among mountain-ascending
penny-win dings &
skipped softness
of losses
listen to the suspended string
how she gently falls
to wine
–
ACADEMIC ALCOHOL CONSUMPTION
Write what
you know,
they say.
From graduating
college, I learned
how to survive
bars
then crashed
into Mom’s
garage drunk
with the GPA of
zero-point-oh-to-
be-young-again-
oh-Lord-oh-my-
oh-fuck
–
BLENDOKU
We can work on puzzles all day,
watch the patterns move
from one color to the other.
Block colors twist in gradients
until blending into something else.
The sun removes itself
from the scene, shifts
behind a cloud,
creates a change in light,
a block of bricks on a building
slightly darker than the rest.
–
GOD POEM
I believe in you
with your hand
in my hand,
which forgives
who I am,
who I have been–
every sin absolved,
we clasp
in silent prayer
and respond,
really respond
to our prayers.
With your hand
in my hand
this land
is my land,
indivisible
under sheets
and gone
in the morning.
–
THE OVERLOOK AT BALDWIN HILLS
rarefied air
never spring
the way smog
sept into our lungs
on the couch hand in hand in
the same room breathing
the same air where there
are more heights to inhale
–
James Croal Jackson is the author of The Frayed Edge of Memory (Writing Knights Press, 2017). His poetry has appeared in Columbia Journal, Hobart, FLAPPERHOUSE, and elsewhere. He edits The Mantle from Columbus, Ohio. Find more at jimjakk.com.
