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Poetry

Mark Jackley

Jackley photo

Mark Jackley’s forthcoming book, At the Edge of a Very Small Town, will be available from the author free at chineseplums@gmail.com. His work has appeared in Fifth Wednesday, Natural Bridge, Sugar House Review, Talking River and other journals.

Dreams

In the dream I was driving a garbage truck. In the dream I wasn’t lowly,
I was manning a fuel-injected mastodon, I was rumbling
down the street and the rumbling rumbled through my bones and rattled
what little is left of my human brain—my god, did that feel fine—
there was nothing bigger than I and my towering aspiration
to collect a tiny paycheck by gathering up the grimy
heaps, the sad, neglected scraps, the recyclable and the lost,
forever lost, remnants of everyone else’s dreams.

Harvest

               In memory

In the mind’s silo, just a few husks:
cold slab of bed where we never wore a stitch,
huddled under the covers reading Bobbie Ann Mason
in the voice of Henry Kissinger. Laughing like brother and sister.
Falling in love with you, truly falling, like you’d plunked me
right between the eyes with a little rubber hammer,
the kind doctors use. Small house on a farm. The dog drunk on dirt
from tunneling after moles. Eau de you was wet
paperbacks and corn.

John Lennon Naked with His Wife
on the Cover of Rolling Stone

                with apologies to Basho

he’s cuckoo—
wrapped around her,
longing still
for Yoko

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