Taj Jackson: two poems

THE SKINFLINT'S SEQUEL

Idea of a skeleton, costless bones. The Wallop-halt
Dust deepens
inch to inch.
Oeuvre, backwash brunt.

There was no first story.

(Stick it together with spit.)

DEMONS BREATHING

They are the sub due halo
of every negative,
unfinished like a Hindu temple,
I write the same message
over and over,
This is my possession.
And I am stubborn as they are stubborn.
And their faces are flowering ash.

We watch the hearth
twin the altar.

We build ourselves a double place.

Taj Jackson's poetry has appeared previously in Thunder Sandwich and Axe Factory Review.