Poems by Mark Jackley

 

WORK

I am the job
my soul
an exhausted
life coach
needed
recycled from
perhaps
an Etruscan
blacksmith who
performed
the job of
beating on things
all day
who sometimes wiped
his brow
admitted that
he didn’t
know a thing

 

DREAM WHERE I WAS STROLLING DOWN MY OWN LEG

walkabout
from the body
glimpse
of resurrection
detour down
the tibia
lighting out
for cornfield roads
leading to
the osprey nests
of bay and sea
boundless
waters signifying
death to some
but hatchlings
on the edge
of forever
discovering
they have wings

 

PAPER HEART

consider the burnt match

acrid smoke
then nothing

maybe a little wind

ashes rising

as if
feathers

 

A SONG IS A PLACE

where someone else
keeps time
a place for
you to dance
outside your flesh
beyond
the stumbles
of the self
its tangled
rhythms,
friend
somehow the heart
a baffled
bass drum
understands

 

SNAKE FLATTENED ON THE ROAD

little river curving

one
bridge only