James Croal Jackso
Fall Guys #2
all this balance nothing to show for it
seesaw the most patient of virtues –
patience
get up god damn it
when you fall can you please get the fuck up
lemons fire from cannons
zest on my back
& I am always running
can’t say the words right in my head
but in the glitch of No Music just levers clicking
& motherfuckers shouting woo! in the sorry
white
sky
White Mulch
My face pressed to the window screen – black pick-up trucks
pass. A little bit of breeze is recommended to ground yourself.
Such violence in a chicken nugget. If I think about vegetable
intelligence, I will allow myself only to eat white mulch. When
becoming grass, nothing happens to the soul. Clumps of earth
inside my fingernails when I scratch at the dirt, and still I weed
myself to the idea that beauty is ubiquitous in nature. At the sky
I choke on the concept of air. That my lungs work all living
hours, ununionized, is betrayal. My desk chains me
to the dark, and still I have the heart to look out a window?
James Croal Jackson (he/him) is a Filipino-American poet who works in film production. He has two chapbooks (Our Past Leaves, Kelsay Books, 2021 and The Frayed Edge of Memory, Writing Knights, 2017) with one forthcoming: Count Seeds With Me (Ethel, 2022). He edits The Mantle Poetry from Pittsburgh, PA. (jamescroaljackson.com)