by | Mar 15, 2013 | Poetry

Somewhere in the world a boy

is getting a blowjob and somewhere

a girl is gritting her teeth. When

I see couples pass and imagine

them fucking, I’m sure they’ll die

alone. It’s only in absence

a thing can exist. It’s the outline

it leaves behind. It’s the space

between our lips, the sighs

we tack up in the air to prove

we were ever here at all.

In the evening I’ll tell myself

I’m something as I study skin cells

in the mirror, as dandruff falls,

and I’ll watch over my shoulder

for anything I can stand between.








Photo by Matt Reinbold

About The Author

Jackson Burgess

Jackson Burgess studies Creative Writing and Narrative Studies at the University of Southern California. He also tutors at LA Southwest College and edits for Red Sky: A Literary Journal and Fractal Literary Magazine.

He’s recently placed writing in Circa Review, Vector Press, Phantom Kangaroo, Rufous City Review, and elsewhere.