The Antidote by August Jackson

When poison drips
from their gaping lips,
you may feel that
all you possess
is a river.

My dear,
you carry the antidote
in your veins,
so whatever lies
they may feed you
know that they serve
no purpose
here in yourself.

When A Man Cries by August Jackson

Tell me, darling.
How does a gentle snowfall
inspire a raging avalanche
as exquisitely as you do?
How does such an unmovable presence,
such an untouchable peace
become so frigid
and gorgeously undone?
Help me to make sense
of these contradictions.
How, my love?
How do you make weakness
look so strong?

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