Drymouth
Becoming paranoid of the tap.
Humidity’s cracked-tongue illusion.
Too many times I’ve said I love you–
a train’s rumbling wakes me at night.
The more water I drink the more blood
in my saliva in the sink.
There’s baking soda on my teeth
when you go to sleep.
I’m trying in this August heat.
The crickets and city sirens.
I’m thirsty and need
to pee, again.
Every time I open my eyes in darkness
I want to admit something.
Bandages
and shoulder itches.
I pick dreams to give to you.
Sheep violins. Candy corn.
I always desire smoke
exhaust and oil.
Another reason to rise
from bed into the parched day.
About the Author: James Croal Jackson is a Filipino-American poet working in film production. His latest chapbook is A God You Believed In (Pinhole Poetry, 2023). Recent poems are in ITERANT, Skipjack Review, and The Indianapolis Review. He edits The Mantle Poetry from Nashville, Tennessee. (jamescroaljackson.com)
Image Credit: Geo C. Boldt “Bathroom” Public domain image courtesy of The Library of Congress (1902)
As It Ought To Be 