167.1: Darren Jackson:: [a last primer] & [earth people] & [rebel, inc.] & [a gala event] 167

I think of end times often. It’s difficult to live in New Orleans and not: the roads have man-sized potholes that puppies and toddlers disappear into with startlingly regularity, teenagers with baseball bats randomly attack bicyclists on the main drag, and every three to six months, there’s no potable water—someone fell asleep at the pump. It’s usually after my third glass of water and second shower that I hear the alert on the radio. A little too late but I always end up fine. When discussing the bicycle attacks, a friend says that’s why he rides faster and doesn’t stop at lights. The children and puppies, well, leashes. The answers to our apocalypse are simple ones. Although said tongue to cheek, there’s truth in sarcasm. This week’s selection from Darren Jackson would find itself well at home here. Jackson knows that darkness does come, but that’s ok. Our ferryman through the swamp, Jackson balances his gallows-humor with sincerity, and he’s going to guide you through the end just fine. We may not all make it out alive but at least we’ll have a good laugh. Nik De Dominic

[a last primer]


A          alpha means trouble

B          an old truck and a dirt road

C          isn’t a bird, but you already knew that

D          an eternal curse

E          doesn’t matter no matter what they say

F          the way it hangs like meat on a hook

G          there’s no such thing

H          silent till it wants to scare you

I          won’t play anymore




[earth people]


if you’re watching this, you know what we did
how chatter hunts your dens and warrens

rough letter
of its breath

Ha




[rebel, inc.]


Failing the firm scratch
the sulfurous line

igniting globe
planetary match

what’s to lose?

Opposition’s sexy
and the Swiss’ll
guard your cash
sowhaddayasay

Ruler of Ash?




[a gala event]


maybe that’s the way
three quick blows
to mark wall P

then gone, a taunting letter
scent lingering
under the noses of soldiers

stumbling to halt
before the line of ladies
curtsying their gentlemen

oh to be an empty gesture
the foiled search
dashing bow