Gary Jackson is the winner of the 2009 Cave Canem Poetry Prizefor his first book Missing You, Metropolis (Graywolf Press, 2010), selected by Yusef Komunyakaa. He was born and raised in Topeka, Kansas, and received a Master of Fine Arts degree in poetry from the University of New Mexico in 2008. His poems have appeared in The Laurel Review, […]
(After Auden) The old comics were never wrong. Right always defended by the hero – polished like Adonis. In one moment Thor is paused in flight towards his foe, the motion lines steadying his resolve as he hurtles ever closer. The next moment Mjolnir, his mystical hammer, slams against the Black Knight’s helmet with a […]
You’re staring, jaw-dropped at my tail. And yes, it’s a good twenty inches long and moves like a serpent in heat. Touch it. I’m no devil, honey, I don’t got no souls, just the smoothest, bluest fur you’ve ever seen. Don’t mind my buddy here, he looks angry all the time, and he’s got eyes […]
It makes me think about Clark and how he’d handle the situation. Not just the bending steel and flying out. Clark could smile. That Boy Scout thing…but the boy doesn’t have Clark. He has me. – Batman from Batman #608 Tellers held by gunpoint hurry to open vaults and registers. I’m face down on the […]
Don’t believe everything you read. The exploits you find in my comic are no more probable than snow in Sunnyvale. I’m not as black as you dream. But a body has to make a living. And I play the part better than any. I know the dangers of believing every shade of black you see. […]
They released me today. At home my mother is waiting and gives me a fifty and a hug and had to get back to Oklahoma. Jim and Gary come by later. Come walk with me. We talk about the last girl I slept with and how she’s dealing. We don’t talk about ourselves. Jim wants […]
You never live in the worlds you save. –The Atomic Man I’ve got my elbow popped out the window, rubbing the lock, my thighs sticking against the tattered leather. The AC gave out eighty miles back, and the sweat on our arms coalesce into steam stained with our scent. You’re looking under the hood, pretending […]
At night, the district neons. Syncopated bass pounces from buildings, claiming foreigners. Korean girls call you into basement bars rimmed with American whiskey triple the price, you pay for the company you keep, women plastered in blue and white, thin as beer labels, peeled and wet, papering the floor. Blink and you’ll lose her for […]