Caleb Jordan

selections from

You’re Gonna Break My Heart

Caleb Jordan

Incendiary grenades on Christmas
Day. A man walks into my garden
and I shoot him dead. This is my property
and I hate myself.
Too much a coward, I crawl
into a cave and paint it with brain
matter. Time
kicks on, a new Xbox
is released. The cave painting
blood soup turns into a panther
who screams at the empty plains
until an officer shoots it dead.

Prior to my death at the hands
of the hotel police, I gathered my papers
and cleaned my room. I am in love
with the not-my-shadow in the mirror.
Tide waited for me one morning,
I spurned it. Tribulations
is a word from childhood
signifying something uncouth
and unknown. What voice
cries out? Where is this wilderness?
I read a pop-up book that prophesies
my metamorphosis into nothing that is.

Ghost inhabits
a bigfoot skull; am I
supposed to make something
out of nothing? I watch
the west grow cold; am I
supposed to comb my hair
out of my face?
Newspaper makes good
insulation, words against
skin like pigs
in blankets. Bigfoot skull watching
me sleep a foot above the street.

No books but in madness,
no madness but in today’s
news. An assemblage of severed
arms and legs. Sperm shot
straight into the air. Let me
tell you a secret. No.
The imperceptible
movement of magma
under deceived homes and businesses.
I will buy a thousand-dollar shirt,
a watch with more diamonds than hours,
a bricolage of suicide notes.

Caleb Jordan is an autistic poet from Oklahoma.


Interview with Caleb Jordan