June 22-28, 2020: Poetry from Michelle Disler and James Croal Jackson

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Michelle Disler

Michelle Disler is a Sparta, Michigan poet and the author of a book of poetry on James Bond titled “Bond, James: alphabet, anatomy, autobiography” published by Counterpath Press. She has been published in North Dakota Quarterly, The Massachusetts Review, Gulf Coast, Hotel Amerika, and The Laurel Review.

The following work is Copyright © 2020, and owned by Michelle Disler and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author.

Bond Insurance Inventory Bond (U)

Bond’s bourbon and smokes budget
Bond’s bank book
Bond’s tropical diseases
Bond’s carrier wave (broken)
Bond’s prudence (hard won)
Bond’s photography
Bond’s antique Duncan Phyfe table
Bond’s book shelves (built-ins)
Bond’s wedding band
Bond’s wedding ring
Bond’s magazine subscriptions
Bond’s self-portrait
Bond’s vitamin supply
Bond’s Guide to Birds of the West Indies
Bond’s work-from-home days
Bond’s workout schedule
Bond’s black book
Bond’s black light
Bond’s crime scene protocol
Bond’s chemistry set
Bond’s medications
Bond’s AA meetings
Bond’s NA meetings
Bond’s nightmares
Bond’s passwords (Vesper, Tracy, Tatiana, Honey, Pussy)
Bond’s favorite color (violet)
Bond’s housekeeper and what she has to clean up

James Croal Jackson

James Croal Jackson (he/him/his) is a Filipino-American poet. He has a chapbook, The Frayed Edge of Memory (Writing Knights Press, 2017), and recent poems in DASH, Sampsonia Way, and Jam & Sand. He edits The Mantle (themantlepoetry.com). He works in film production in Pittsburgh, PA. (jamescroaljackson.com)

The following work is Copyright © 2020, and owned by James Croal Jackson and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author.

New Year’s Party – Dining Room

Nothing to start conversation with
but the glow of television, hors d’oeuvres

the crowd devoured and I could only stand
and gape at the electric wiring strung along

the ceiling that led to the hanging light
fixture, a metallic apple dimmed. I wanted

to talk about architecture but felt wildly
inadequate due to the bricks missing

in my brain, hammers clanking where
words should, my mouth full of nails.