Jackson McCarthy (he/him)
Make me of the body spell
And even if the night were bad,
how could I want the wanting day,
everything in it always receding?
Make me of the body, always. Wouldn’t
mind the blood and guts. Wouldn’t
mind the decay. The taking and never
giving. And even if
this distance doesn’t fold,
if stars won’t touch his back —
The yawn I pick up from his
yawn: a memory of a breath
in the surface of the dawn.
Love your messy hair spell
Like Venus, like Antinous,
like Pania slipping into the water
when I could not make you stay
or come closer. Love your hair
even when it’s long. Love talking to you
with our masks on. Love when
you take your mask down so I can stare at
your chin. Like a dumber blonder Saint Sebastian
but less tortured and really happy
to see me. O swallow me whole
like Time does, then conquer Time
with your Classical beauty!
Moonlight spell
We reach the point
the mind forgets the mind.
Across our great divide
and down to moon-soaked
spots on the floor. I want
to be so consumed by something,
to think that there is no way out.
Turn off the headlights. Tap the stream.
If poetry could make you love me,
it would, I think. Close the windows.
Lock the door. Show me things.
Show me more.
