Poems
by James Croal Jackson
Having Won a Two-Day Trip to Hawaii
We wait in the endless line on principle
backpacks full of familiar belonging,
dreaming to get away. This past decade:
a years-long playback on one of those
stereos everyone wanted. A CD requiem
that spun, skipped, shook
and is now obsolete.
if you could search through
your life you would
page upon white page
the deserts of texas
memory in a buggy
toting high school calculus
sleeping it off
the usual
whats expected
The crickets chirp when you sniff the cat
thats our bedtime routine.
Google asks us to set an alarm:
never.
nights were alive with music
wine crushed coffee bones faded
light to sleep dustballs curled
were swept away
broken wind through bent window
tonight estimates life long enough
to breathe sunlight
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