<Jack Magnus is
On March 07th, 2026
2026
2025
2026
04.26
I entered a race with no reason or rhyme
Fell far behind others who ran swift and sublime
Grin on each face, they were always ahead
Until I made my own turn, looked back and then said
"Come catch me," across a long stretch of good time.
04.12
Deep in my garden I played and I dug,
Hunting for critters and crawlers among the dirt rug,
I tumbled and bumbled with sun and the shade,
In bloom with the tulips, my meadow I made,
My cheeks colored rose ‘cause I caught a love bug.
03.15
Along the subway,
sweet perfume, my stance
knocking unexpectedly.
Memories blush my cheeks:
a locked grip around
flesh, preservation
magnifies the flavor.
The edge
familiar, words contour
notches that rest, like
the snug bodies interlock.
Softly, momentarily
hung; future tense
folded, the present,
I accepted everything
otherwise as history.
The perfume releases
me; stuttering along
creases and disjointed clicks,
a path I dare
pound smooth.
My bones
surround and latch,
every memory polishing
the curve.
Anxiously tenacious:
the gap to perfect
knots, each wave
upset by a knell, I rattle
the surface skin.
Each intimate feign
haunted underneath a pattern
of heavy metal.
Incessant ferocity
until, out of
the blue, days
flip to page one,
folding everything, again
into the preface.
A single
click, the tracks
bump, and I relinquish
hallowed chains.
Maybe back to
being romantic, maybe
clarity finally washes
over the story, maybe
it just is. a soft, fading
sign; to continue the cycle.
It dwindles; into
a fond romantic
tale, a lucid wash, mouth
the words. Low
tide pulls, anticipation
builds a wave over
the wet sand path.
03.07
Wander around
the subject, not
too obviously I catch
glimpses though.
Rather pulling at
intentions, like
out loud text
bubble assemblage, pastiche
intonations reframe
the good the bad and the fugly.
Getting, along
the fork in
the road, messy
phrases and sloppy behavior
wander around hahas
and preferential hehes.
Touchy tattoos but
its oddly technical,
just like
the nature of activity
based models.
As a granular
approach, it
adds frequency;
chic, no?
A meditative breath
honors: "this is
how life is supposed to be,"
because of a body
archive collecting
ferromagnetic whispers.
02.16
Gary across, he observes: 6ft, attractive hygiene and he's a really nice guy.
Suggestion to swap spit felt like a cotton swab around the tongue, poking for venereal traces.
Bacterial footprints, stamped into the cheeks, survive a minty flush.
Gary, back home, a mouth for a culture dish, leaves a retainer lining of his teeth; flecked with
courtesy, compulsion, and lust, glistening on his side table.
There's a megalodonic shelf above, higher to the dissolution becoming, where each morsel of his date
lifts off, carrying space for inspection.
Gary is learning. That these misty, gossipy, vignettes excite the edge of his gay almanac, he's
carelessly distracted for vanity's sake.
Clinical affirmation, across-the-table, femme students, divine vulnerability gambits fold
everything, in the name of sexual pedagogy.
Intellectualism by quantity, sample size of a population. Each, a dot strewn; eventual volume forms
with ass cracks. Gravitational gorges, collapsing, wedge him deep inside.
Variegated streaks the gorge wall. Gary carries the weight of ethnographic research– the dignity of
each dot, a bead of sweat, suddenly evaporates.
Deep in the valley, Gary's head spins around a thick, bound book, pages dedicated to a sweet still
life (duvet indents, threaded perfume, a mouth guard, misty, moist molecules, an idle finger).
02.01
I hold you in
my hands, slip
of clay surround
each crease, my fingers.
A single affection
scaffolds, spiral
staircase; making, curving
smooth rock.
Material, spiraling upwards;
a tender bellow over,
collapsing like petals
from a bulging stem.
Sculpture is
a surface, the trace
of wind on sand, dance
rests gently along.
Structure is
porous,
a submissive provision that needs
a clause.
Commemorate is
a person,
event, an infinitesimal piece
of my existence.
Two structural dots
and an arc sculpted
on paper, maybe
it is too
simple.
Digits, matter, too, you, I love
Everyone has
fingers, an empathetic
treaty to the verb
of it all.
You know what I mean.
03.31
Fragrant winds
that have always roamed
across a hallowed basin.
I am
gracious for a visit when
my feet touch the sand.
I meet
the crows and wander through
ledgers; sacred hearts
and effervescent life.
“Hello,
again” to the only
spiritual father I have
ever known, a mountain is
just my chest. My navel is
a cavity, an open mouth to
the center of our garden.
the midnight blue
is my mother, and my sister,
the orange wind, is the way
dry leaves soak and crunch willingly.
There is
something running in
the stars above me.
Dear God,
you never asked
me for a contract
when you built my vessel.
Would praise
be enough for your creator
when I read twinkling connections?
Each leg and every fiber, for it all.
My chest peaks
and my navel canyons
and my heart burns
skin, bones brittle
and a gentle drop.
To die
on the Cerro Pedernal, my body
is a sacrifice; every breath out,
my life declared commitment.
02.04
what
is my name
is my whole
identity parsed down
to the syntactic roles
specificity
again i eat
half the granola
bar keeping
plump and sane
again i
am a bar as
i slide
through the whole
package
crumbs on
my face because i am
a mess im
obviously slurry
my queerness
was a hole and
is a gap
what i pry open
between smiling cheeks
residue left
over when you
wipe my body
across the surface
On a
spoon the drugs
burble and my
body condenses
into what
If i got
closer i would
forget that i am
a witty hello daddy
and possibly that yellow
is my favorite color
collection of atomic
archives emotions
that vibrate down to
a singularity but
a choir
blurs and smooths
over a threshold
specificity again
i eat the other
half of the granola
bar and swallow miss
dignified smile.
eat
half of the granola
bar in my brain
what
is a module
that stacks
what
is my name
is my whole
identity parsed down
to the syntactic roles
the fetish is larceny
by false pretenses
because I don’t
actually like feet
sex and
the city is my k-hole
when i want to
be a particular
object
a witty guy in
sexy jeans
said i am too
gay but he only
hangs out with
cancer faggots
if i retell childhood
stories in third person
i am the bully
when i have sex
i look like a dog
taking a shit because
vulnerability is begging
it is completely
unserious and high
energy when I am resolute
on affirmations
specificity
on crunchyroll
does not
beg for me
my bones would
be slightly cracked
if running
had any impact
around the
park I scatter
my ashes, an exaltation
from a wet throat
and tar lungs
i slide
my key in the lock
once but i
only eat half
the granola bar
the victim
card is played
by manipulating protein into
the perpetrator
obviously
i’m crazy if we
get into the specifics
because my heart
beat is audible