The South is the most beautiful place you'll ever be afraid.

The collected works of

Jordan A. King

Afterword

wake up
shed your skin
after that long sleep
and scream your cicada song

i am entitled
to life, liberty,
and the desperate,
frantic evasion
of unhappiness

you could hum
one single note
i'd call it music
and dance around you
until my wings burned up

i have one gear:
high school metal shop go kart fast

wish i could stitch up
and then revive
all the little things
that leave you feeling guilty
when you hit them
with your truck
on these dark back roads

if i let you into this
rundown pitstop gas station bathroom heart
would you bring that sharpie marker
and write down all the things
i desperately need to hear

i want to be the ghost
rattling wind chimes
on still, lifeless days
when you need music

gothic troubadour
pluckin the strings
'n singin the things
that echo through our
rowdy jailhouse hearts

i am the crawdad
with little red claws
held menacingly in the air
at this world
and sonofabitch,
i'll pinch the piss outta you

half-moon scars
always remind me
you were the rose
i held onto too tightly

got told artists go broke
so i found a real job
and went broken

can you shout fire in a crowded library
if they’re burning books up the street?

don't you cry, boy
this is a dry county

there's a special place in hell for me
'cause it's awfully hard to torture
a man who’s lived this lowdown life
gonna be a goddamn scorcher

i pray to god
for megachurch preachers to die penniless
so they can get into heaven
with the rest of us

pawn shop, vape shop
gun shop, bait shop

you get good at coasting
from place to place
when you can't afford
new goddamn brakes

it's not all bad
just mostly
not always bad
just lately

folks marrying their cousins
is a negative southern stereotype
but i met a lovely lesbian couple
who pretend to be related
when they're out on the town
because it's safer that way

plenty of fish
in the pond
and all my lures
in that tree

gotta be a good boy now
play nice and get along
and one day you can be yourself
when grandma passes on

wish your nightmares
could be my nightmares
'cause they sound like dreams
by comparison

preacher man told me
all my friends will go to hell
so i’ve started doing sinful things
so i can go as well

child immigrant
fleeing violence
in his home country
jesus christ

thank the devil for the vices
and the nights they got you through
all the sweat and spit and tears ‘n shit
that must have made you “you”

they got bored
waiting for heaven
a long time ago
so they pass the time
by making life hell
for the rest of us

mother governor
child labor

the gospel truth
alive and thriving
just take a look
at what preacher's driving

i have traversed these valleys
not by the grace of a god
but the compassion
of witches

Contact

An Apology

Dear Ms. Kennedy,I hope this message finds you well.
Sorry I was a rotten little shit in your class.I shouldn't have stolen your entire classroom set
of To Kill a Mockingbird and hidden all the books in a random locker so we wouldn't have to read that day.Thank you for sharing the story with me, especially when I couldn't understand or appreciate it.I understand and appreciate it now.Sincerely, Jordan

Afterword

My name is Jordan Alexander King.I believe the South is the most beautiful place you'll ever be afraid.I am publishing this collection on May 22, 2026 (World Goth Day) to show you why.

In 2023, I was writing a Southern Gothic novel while working at a historic hotel in Arkansas.I administered first aid for a guest's gunshot wound.He survived.I got writer’s block, so I pivoted to photography.*I believe you can capture the things that haunt you.Put them behind the glass of your iPhone screen.Trapped inside a single frame, they can be shared.And then they don't have the same power over you.*While defining Modern Southern Gothic photography, I attended graduate school at UALR.I studied new applications of artificial intelligence for education and the arts.I built tools that improve literacy, describe the world to blind folks, and empower artists.

The final photograph of this collection was taken at a barn in rural Arkansas.The vines on the rusted tin depict a man’s face.I would rather not discuss this particular image or the barn itself in greater detail. Thank you.