On Sassafras the KEPT ONES
In the alley toward the strip yellow
plant caution tape walking through trash
valley to Iron City Beer no one
needs to pack bags stepping on
white rocks on Sassafras the KEPT ONES
under clouds. Wonder who makes
it out alive. Plastic bag with Lysol
wipe flapped in the wind when tossed
in the trash. Another event stupidly
beautiful to admire. When I look away
I could crash into sunflower NO PARKING
signs. What masochist places
these in the middle of a long busy stretch
of sidewalk? Now bees won’t leave
me alone in this heat
Write Everything
write a waterfall eroding the sediment of past
words to drip off tongue burn in the crinkle
crackle of sandpaper rocks white walls you speak
against refuse to listen ears plugged with pink
plastic unsustainable their space your space
OK Google
is your volume at two
what
is
my mouth my tongue
a computer can’t play stupid
what
is
a bad
sign like your tongue itching
let me ask again
tongue itchiness cannabis
I think you want to play it again
what
should I be worried
—by James Croal Jackson
Copyright © 2022, by James Croal Jackson. All Rights Reserved.
James Croal Jackson is a Filipino-American poet who works in film production. He has three chapbooks: Count Seeds With Me (Ethel Zine & Micro-Press, 2022), Our Past Leaves (Kelsay Books, 2021), and The Frayed Edge of Memory (Writing Knights, 2017). James edits The Mantle Poetry from Pittsburgh, PA. (jamescroaljackson.com)