Percussion/Swimming
we are rhythms a rattle
. of bones
arms the wind at war
. zagging
to the blue of chlorine
. finish
. when the water
. triangles
. crystal bewilderment
. when you don’t know
. how to breathe
. or won’t
you know the sound
. . . the way words drown
. . . and worlds
. (the beat
. . an absence
. . . . of universe)
submerged and
. . .how to get away
About the Poet
James Croal Jackson’s poetry has appeared or is forthcoming in The Bitter Oleander, Rust+Moth, Glassworks, Thin Air, and other publications. He grew up in Akron, Ohio, spent a few years in Los Angeles, traveled the country in his Ford Fiesta, and now lives in Columbus, Ohio. Find more at jimjakk.com.