Percussion/Swimming by James Croal Jackson


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