by James Croal Jackson
we ran headfirst into love
bricks stone cement
& blood
no glass in that window heart
the rhino’s horn
sharp and rare
I write about what’s not there
headlights foglights
I write to explain this love
this fast love
this rabbit-run hole deep dug
& shovels & shoulders
& salty skin drowned in tongue
somewhere over this hill is a burial plot
with our names on it
x marks our naked bodies
drunk on desire
& gin & no one
knows where our mouths have been
so restore the reservoirs
reserve a seat for me at the theater
let’s sit in darkness
watch the actors eat rare steak
& show love without talking about it
o how to enjoy your teeth sunk in blood
o how to finish what you started
James Croal Jackson has worked for The New York Times, the American Film Institute, and Workaholic Productions. His poems have appeared in magazines including The Bitter Oleander, Rust + Moth, Isthmus, and others. His first chapbook is forthcoming from Writing Knights Press in 2017, and he is the 2016 William Redding Memorial Poetry Prize winner in his current city of Columbus, Ohio. Visit him at www.jimjakk.com.